League of Legends Judgments
by Akai Shi-Koret
Summary: After realizing that most of the champions in the League didn't get a Judgment written for them, I have taken it upon myself to rectify that issue. Dunno how often this will be updated, but if you shoot me the name of one of your favorite champs I'll do my best to write up a Judgment for them.
1. Judgment: Kha'Zix, the Voidreaver

Sorry, I've got the attention span of a sparrow apparently since I keep starting new projects . I got inspired to do this after reading a lot of the League Judgments and realizing that they didn't have any for the newer champs. This one in particular is for the Voidreaver, Kha'Zix - one of my favorites.

I do not own League of Legends, nor any of the characters associated with it.

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Candidate: Kha'Zix

Date: September 27th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION

The insectoid being walks stealthily and swiftly through the hall, head jerking back and forth to search for prey lurking in the shadows of the room. Its chitinous body is colored a purple so deep that it almost appears black – perfect for blending in with the shadows of a forest at night. Its arms, which are essentially giant scythes from the elbow down, twitch restlessly, as though feeling for the body of some unsuspecting prey. A small trail of caustic drool drips from its open mouth, spattering the ground behind it and leaving a small trail of smoking stone to mark where it had come from. The open spaces clearly make it feel vulnerable and it spends as little time as possible in the wide hall. It swiftly approaches the twin doors, which swing open to admit it noiselessly and which seal shut immediately upon its entry, as though attempting to lock the abomination inside.

REFLECTION

Kha'Zix blinked in the unfamiliar darkness, claws held at the ready. His eyes were adapted to see in low visibility situations, but even the enhanced vision was unable to penetrate the thick clouds of murk that hung about his head. An alien growl slipped from his throat as he hung at the edge of the room, unwilling to step further into the abyss. The humans were playing tricks on him, that much was certain.

It was the smell that caught his attention first – the scent of a dying animal, its carcass freshly butchered. Kha'Zix knew the smell instinctively, recalling the memory of the hunt with perfect clarity. He knew not the name of the creature, but it had been a fierce predator, with a thick hide and jutting tusks that could have impaled Kha'Zix with ease. Despite its size and immense strength though, the hunt had been a quick one. Kha'Zix had struck from the shadows, claws slicing through its head before the great beast ever suspected it was being stalked. He had savored the smell of the creature's blood as it poured forth from the gaping stump of its neck, preparing to gorge himself upon its corpse, but at the same time could not help but feel a sense of disappointment. No prey of this plane had yet to prove a worthy adversary for him to hunt, and he was swiftly becoming bored.

A sudden, fierce roar caused Kha'Zix to jerk his head up from his meal, just in time to see a blur of fur and fangs leap at him from the nearby brush. He snarled, attempting to raise his claws in defense, but the thing tackled him and the Voidbor tumbled to the ground. A sharp, serrated edge traced its way along Kha'Zix's side, penetrating his chitin and drawing forth a purplish liquid that served as his blood. It was the first time he'd ever been so wounded since coming to the plane, and the agony he suddenly felt energized him. The lion-esque creature that had pinned him to the ground was drawing back his knife once more, readying a blow to the Voidborn's face, but Kha'Zix reached out in fury and slashed at his foes face. It jerked its head to the side, an instinctual reaction, but a hair too slow – the tip of the claw traced a line down its face and through its left eye.

The lion's reaction was immediate – it gave a cry of pain and lurched backwards, hand covering its maimed eye. Kha'Zix was on his feet instantly, intending to press his advantage, but as he lashed out again the lion parried the blow with its knife. It snarled at the insectoid creature as its hand came away from the oozing red socket where its eye used to be, and plunged towards its opponent. Kha'Zix, his blood boiling for the first time since his arrival on Runeterra, gladly gave battle.

It was a long fight, with grievous wounds inflicted on both sides. The combatants fought until one of them turned to flee, then stalked each other through the forest until one of them leapt out in ambush at the other. Kha'Zix employed every asset he had against the creature, yet it never wavered or fell back for too long, instead matching the Voidborn's fury blow for blow. The day drew to a close with both combatants, battered and bleeding, lying in a clearing next to each other. Kha'Zix had stared daggers into his opponents eyes, feeling the pain of a thousand abrasions and openings in his chitin, but knew that to attack once more was out of the question. "Know this, predator," he had spit at the lion, "I shall find you again and consume you."

The lion creature laughed at him then, through chipped fangs. "And I promise you this, beast," he has said with equal vehemence, "your head will adorn the wall of my den one day." For another moment the hunters locked eyes until Kha'Zix finally pulled himself to his feet and began to stagger away.

"Why do you want to join the League, Kha'Zix?" the lion said from behind him.

Kha'Zix turned, his claws held at the ready once again. This wasn't how the memory had gone. The presence of a human mind was pressing down on his, and suddenly Kha'Zix remembered where he was. "You petty humans should be thankful you did not stumble into my memories of the Void," he snapped at the lion, which he now knew was an illusion.

"Why do you want to join the League, Kha'Zix?" it repeated again, hands idly cleaning its knife. Kha'Zix snarled angrily, but knew he would get no further response until he had made his intentions clear. "I wish to hunt and consume the most powerful creatures on your planet," he said finally, claws rubbing together in anticipation. "I shall adapt myself to kill your so-called heroes, and when I have reached the apex of my evolution, I shall destroy your world."

The lion took the comment without a trace of emotion showing on its face. "And?" it prompted, as though it knew Kha'Zix wasn't finished yet.

"The lion creature," Kha'Zix went on, recalling the taste of its blood. "You call it Rengar. It is the strongest prey I have ever hunted. I seek to consume it, and it had joined your League." His shell tremored with delight. "I shall look forward to hunting it on your Fields of Justice until I can hunt it again elsewhere."

The lion finally nodded. "How does it feel to expose your mind?" it asked.

The Voidborn laughed, an unearthly screeching noise that barely resembled laughter. "Just be careful where you look, human," he said with what passed for a sadistic grin. "There are secrets here that would leave you gibbering with madness." And then he found himself back in the darkness, with another door resting ahead of him. Kha'Zix sharpened his claws against each other, fevered joy making his body restless. The strongest prey of an entire plane, brought together in one place for him to hunt and consume…


	2. Judgment: Syndra, the Dark Sovereign

Amazingly enough, I actually got around to publishing a second chapter. This one is for Syndra, the Dark Sovereign. I've been having quite a bit of fun with her in-game ever since she got buffed, so I figured she was due to get a write up here. For the most part, I see Syndra as essentially being a confused teenager with enough power to rip a monastery off its perch on a mountain - a horrible combination, as anyone who knows teenagers should know. Let me know what you think!

One other note: I typically try to only write for champions that I've played as, so it may be some time before I'm able to write a Judgment for newly released champs like Nami. I promise I will get around to them eventually though.

League of Legends and all characters are owned by Riot Games.

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Candidate: Syndra

Date: September 13th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION

She enters the hall soundlessly, her bare feet gliding just above the surface of the earth. Her entry is silent, but she brings with her the restrained force of a hurricane. Arcane power emanates from her form, causing even the most uneducated in magic to feel its presence as a slight pressure on their bodies. A trio of spheres, each one darker than the night, orbits her form lazily, restrained by merely a trace of her dark power. The mage gives a chuckle at the inscription above the door of the Reflection Chambers, just before shoving them wide open with a shout of magic. The darkness beyond swallows both the mage and her slowly revolving orbs, even as the doors shut behind her.

REFLECTION

Syndra hesitated as the doors closed, plunging her entire world into darkness. She could sense the arcane energies swirling about her dimly, on the edges of her perception, but that type of magic was beyond her. The mage forced her dark spheres out from her body, widening their orbits in case she needed to respond to a threat quickly. There was no telling what the Summoners would try to do to her. "I'm waiting," she hissed into the void.

"It's for the best," the voice of her father said suddenly. Syndra froze at the sound. The last time she had heard from him had been the day they'd taken her away, so many years ago. "Father?" she whispered quietly into the darkness, and suddenly she was there once again, standing in the doorway of her home. Her parents stood together, watching her with tears in their eyes, and she felt again the iron-clad grip of the Ionian soldier who had been sent to take her away to the monastery. "Time to go," the man had said, gruffly pulling at her wrist. "Let's get a move on."

She had fought them that day, clawing with tooth and nail and resisting with all her might until two others came to take her. Her powers boiled up within her and she sent their bodies flying like ragdolls, but the energy it cost left her defenseless. She had screamed in rage, in fear, in sadness, as they finally carried her weakened form away from the house and into their cart, screamed until the screams became sobs and tears decorated the wooden bench on which she sat. There was an elderly man with her, one of the elders of the village, but she heard none of his speeches about how this was "best for the village" and "in the interest of preserving balance." All she knew was that they'd stolen her from her family and that she'd never see them again.

In the blink of an eye the cart, the soldiers and her slowly receding home disappeared. Syndra found herself standing once more in the stone hallways of the monastery she'd grown up in, eyes locked on the door that led to her mentor's quarters. The soft sound of a meditative chant filtered through the thick, scarred wood, but Syndra was in no mood to allow her master to finish. With a minor burst of her magic, the door flew open, banging against the wall with a harsh clack. "I must talk to you, Master," she said, her tone belying the politeness of her words.

The old man rose slowly, stiff knees unbending and raising him up to his full height. "Speak then, young one," he said in a kind voice.

"You promised to teach me magic, not to keep my powers from me," Syndra hissed. "Why then are my powers growing more slowly each day?"

The old man eyes grew wary and thoughtful then, and Syndra knew that her suspicions had been right. "Syndra, you must listen to me," the man began, holding out his palms in a gesture of peace. "Know that what I did was for your sake. Yes, I have been dampening your powers with my own, but it was only to teach you restraint and balance –"

Syndra had heard enough. Her anger, so long held in check, finally reached a breaking point. They had taken her home and her family from her – were they now to take away her powers? "You LIAR!" she screamed, arcane energy flowing through her body. Her hair rose from her shoulders as her magic potential fought against the bonds which had held it for too long. Small objects lifted themselves from the floor, drifting in silent orbits around her body. "You feared me, you always did! You're nothing but a liar and traitor!"

Her mentor backed away, real fear showing for the first time in his eyes. "Syndra, calm down!" he pleaded over the sound of the rising magical storm. "You must learn to control yourself or –"

"I have ALWAYS known how to control myself," she snapped, advancing on him through a maelstrom of flying debris. "Release my powers. NOW!"

He cowered before her then, nothing more than a sniveling coward threatened with true might. "If you cannot control yourself, I will be forced to nullify your magic completely," he stated with finality, hands shielding his face from her terrifying visage. It was the last straw. Syndra saw red, and in that moment she did something she had never consciously done before - she seized the old man's frail body with her dark powers and hurled him with all her strength. With a sickening crack, he struck the wall behind him, landing with a wet thump on the floor.

Objects fell from around Syndra as the arcane storm she'd inadvertently summoned died away. She felt a moment of guilt, and turned away from the corpse, closing her eyes to scene – but just for a moment. As she fought to come to terms with what she'd done, she felt her magical prowess grow within her once more, pushing past the arbitrary limits set in place by her so-called "mentor". The arcane energy filled her being, brushing aside the doubts and guilt that she felt. The old man had been an enemy attempting to keep her power locked away. She was justified in killing him. "He deserved it," she whispered to herself.

"Why do you want to join the League, Syndra?" said a voice. Syndra whirled about to find the old man once more on his feet, his lined face drawn in an expression of boredom. She stumbled backwards from the reanimated corpse, confusion and fear raging within her. This was not how the memory had gone. "You're dead," she managed to choke out. "I killed you."

"Answer the question, please," the old man said with an impatient gesture. "Why do you want to join the League?"

Syndra forced her bewilderment down, regaining some of her composure. "There will always be others seeking to control my power," she began. "The sniveling cowards that rule in Ionia will no doubt come for me. But even they must answer to the supreme governing body in Valoran – the Institute of War. Keep me from their hands and I shall fight your battles on the Fields of Justice."

The apparition of her deceased mentor nodded. "As you wish," he stated with a slight bow of his head. "How does it feel, exposing your mind?"

Her eyes narrowed at the question. "I will deal with it if I must," she said through clenched teeth. Another nod met the answer, and then suddenly she was back in the Institute of War. A pair of doors stood before her, waiting expectantly. Syndra recalled her dark spheres towards herself and floated forwards. The League of Legends, and her freedom, waited.


	3. Judgment: Ziggs, the Hexplosive Expert

We're back once again, this time with the Hexplosive Expert Ziggs. He proved VERY hard for me to write for, so if this sounds like schmeg, that's why. Any feedback you can provide would be much appreciated - especially ideas for future Judgments.

League of Legends and all characters are owned by Riot Games.

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Candidate: Ziggs

Date: February 1st, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Though the Great Hall has played witness to yordle champions before, it has never before seen one that has been quite this energetic. The honorary Dean of Demolition bounds across the floor with seemingly limitless energy flowing through his body, despite the mind-numbing amount of explosives he has strapped to his person. An endless stream of incoherent mumbling, punctuated by occasional bursts of chaotic laughter, trickles from his mouth, which is permanently turned up in a toothy grin. As he approaches the entrance to the Reflecting Chamber, Ziggs hands twitch unconsciously near one of his explosives, as though sizing the doors up for demolition. When they swing open to admit him, he merely chuckles and steps through, leaving only a faint smell of gunpowder behind.

REFLECTION:

The darkness inside the Reflection Chamber was disconcerting, but hardly something that Ziggs was worried about.

The explosion came suddenly and swiftly, knocking the demolitions expert off his feet with a burning shockwave and a roar of displaced air. Most beings would have been completely shell-shocked by the random detonation, but the only thing Ziggs could think of as he lay on his back was that the blast wasn't nearly as large as it could have been. As he sat up though, tightening his goggles down in case of further explosions, he realized that he was no longer at the Institute of War. The whitewashed walls of the Yordle Academy testing chamber rose up around him, each one blackened with a considerable amount of soot from the blast. In the center of the room, only a few feet from where Ziggs had been standing, a large metal contraption smoldered gently, pieces of it scattered about the room.

"Excuse me, inventor Ziggs, but was your hextech engine _supposed_ to detonate like that?" came a slightly annoyed-sounding voice from behind him. Ziggs glanced behind himself, wiping the soot off of his goggle lenses, and found a group of somewhat disheveled yordle professors glaring at him.

"Erm, not quite," Ziggs replied, picking himself up off the ground. "But I can fix that! See, the power source I'm using is stronger than any other currently in service, though it's a bit volatile, so if I can just – "

"A bit volatile?" one of the scientists interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "Your engine just blew a hole in the wall of the Academy large enough to drive a zeppelin through!"

Ziggs glanced back over his shoulder, craning his neck to see beyond the remnants of his machine. Broad daylight spilled into the room through a gaping, soot-rimmed opening. "Wow," he whispered to himself. "That one was truly impressive." For a moment he merely gazed in amazement before he finally remembered the scientists standing behind him. "I can fix it, I promise!" he injected, turning back around hastily, but the yordles were already shaking their heads.

"Pack your things, inventor," one of the elder professors said. "Perhaps we'll invite you again to demonstrate your craft, if you decide to start taking note of safety precautions." As one, the group began to move away, leaving only the disappointed yordle behind with the wreckage of his device. Ziggs watched their retreating backs, devastated, but there was nothing he could do now. He shamefully turned around to begin the process of sorting through his machine for valuable parts. At the very least he could salvage some of it.

But even as the yordle got to work on his hextech engine, a pair of black-suited humans slipped past him. For a moment Ziggs worried that the professors had summoned a security team to forcibly escort him off the premises, but they seemed to completely ignore him. As the yordle inventor watched, curiosity overwhelming his instinct to hide, the humans approached the professors who had only moments ago dismissed Ziggs. One of the black-suited beings produced a small hextech device from his pocket, and as the professors finally heard the footsteps of their pursuers and turned around, flung it at the group of the yordles.

What happened next, Ziggs couldn't tell, but in a flash of light all five of the scientists were unconscious on the floor. Without a word to his companion, the first human bent and hoisted the prone forms of the scientists up onto his shoulders. Seconds later, they made for the hole in the wall that Ziggs had inadvertently made with his hextech device. Ziggs quivered with nervous energy, thoughts of intervening madly dancing through his head, but without a weapon he'd be next to useless. If only he could recreate the explosion from his hextech engine…

And suddenly, the world blurred around Ziggs, becoming a rainbow pastel of colors. The yordle spun, disoriented, until finally solid ground reappeared under his feet. He was standing atop a hill covered with barren trees, overlooking a familiar jagged shape at its base. The yordle recognized the Zaunite prison instantly, his hands twitching with excitement. He remembered this place – it was where the Zaun agents had taken the Academy's professors. It also doubled as his first hexsplosive testing ground, if he recalled correctly. Suddenly aware of a weight on his back, Ziggs reached over his head and felt the pitted and cracked surface of one of his most devastating weapons. Giving a large grin, he heaved the hexsplosive out of its leather restraints and cradled it gently in his arms, admiring the handpainted skull that adorned its surface for just a moment. One of his fingers touched the end of the fuse and with a minor jolt of magic, set it ablaze.

A second later, Ziggs heaved the Mega Inferno Bomb into the air, watching breathlessly as it plummeted towards the compound below. The minute figures of guards scattered as they saw the object coming, taking shelter in nearby bunkers. Ziggs giggled at the sight of the fleeing Zaun citizens – their defensive fortifications worked excellently against the cannons of the Piltover military, but could do nothing against the storm that was coming. As the small round sphere approached the ground, the yordle pulled his goggles over his eyes. "Fire in the hole!" he yelled, for the benefit of exactly no one but himself.

A small sun appeared on the ground, expanding outwards in a burst of fiery devastation. Rubble from the reinforced wall of the prison scattered in all directions, blown outwards along with the expanding fireball. A dark, billowing cloud rose from the site of the impact, mushrooming into the sky as Ziggs chuckled madly. The hexsplosives worked perfectly. Now it was time to make the Zaunite bastards pay for kidnapping the Academy's brightest. "Let's blow this joint," he muttered to himself, palming a pair of slightly smaller bombs from his belt.

"Why do you want to join the League, Ziggs?" a voice asked from behind him. The hexplosives expert whirled around at the unfamiliar sound, bombs at the ready, only to find one of the yordle professors standing before him. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, momentarily disregarding the burning fuses of the weapons in his hand. This wasn't how the memory had gone.

"Does it look like I can find suitable testing grounds like this on a daily basis?" Ziggs replied, gesturing to the still-burning wreckage of the prison wall below him. "The Academy's still trying to fix the damage from my last test. I need somewhere I can afford to throw these things," he said, indicating the lit bombs in his hands.

"And you decided that the League of Legends was the best place to test them?" the professor asked skeptically.

"Of COURSE," Ziggs said in exasperation. "The Zaunite guards down in the prison didn't prove to be very effective for my tests at all. Now, if you let me into the Institute, oh, I would have such a variety of well-armed and armored targets to pick from –"

"You've made your point clear," the scientist replied, cutting him off. "How does it feel to expose your mind?"

Ziggs shrugged noncommittally. "I've been through worse," he said neutrally, just before the bombs in his hands exploded. After the ringing in his ears and starbursts in his eyes faded, the Dean of Explosives found himself back in the darkness of the Reflection Chamber. With a soft chuckle, Ziggs headed for the doorway at the far end of the room. His new laboratory was waiting.


	4. Judgment: Nami, the Tidecaller

I return once again, this time with the much-requested judgment of Nami (This one's for you, Runty). I still haven't had a chance to play her, but hopefully I'll be able to scrounge up the IP sometime soon. On a side note, you can find all of the Riot-written judgments in the following link: . ?t=256575 . Any champ that's already had a Judgment written for them by Riot I'll be leaving alone, so if you're interested in making a request, check there first.

League of Legends and all characters are the property of Riot Games.

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Candidate: Nami

Date: December 7th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The Great Hall has played host to many unusual creatures throughout the years, but it has never seen a being quite like Nami before. Though her fingers clench nervously around her elegant staff, the Tidecaller's eyes wander about the hall with an insatiable curiosity. Her fishlike body is supported by a pool of water that roils below her tail and follows her as she glides across the floor, providing her with a medium to travel through. As she approached the great doors, her eyes lingered on the inscription embedded in its frame. Seconds later, the Marai leaped backwards in fright as they swung open to admit her. After waiting a moment longer to ensure that the doors are done moving, she "swims" nervously into the blackness that waits beyond.

REFLECTION:

Although the darkness is nothing new to Nami, she felt more vulnerable than ever as the doors closed behind her. The humans known as "summoners" appeared to be trustworthy enough, but on her journey inland Nami had met more than a few that she'd had to beat off with her staff. There was no telling what they had in store for her here, and that thought was enough for Nami to bring her staff to a ready position. If they wanted to try anything, they'd quickly find that she wasn't as vulnerable as she seemed.

A sudden twinkle of light from the darkness beyond caught Nami's attention. She lowered her staff slowly as she gazed at the pinprick, memories rising unbidden in her mind. The soft glow reminded her so much of the lights that burned in her village, keeping each home lit from the inside. She swam closer to get a better look, but shrank backwards in surprise as a multitude of the lights flared up before her vision. Nami found herself back home with the rest of her people, standing in the center of the town and blinking with shock. It was darker than she remembered, the moonstone having fallen dead some weeks ago, but simply seeing her village again was a gift. The cool touch of the ocean echoed against her skin and she rejoiced to be one with it once more. For a moment, the water's embrace was the only thing she could feel and she closed her eyes, basking in the sensation.

A voice broke the young Marai out of here reverie. "What are you doing out so late, Nami?" it said in a soft, gentle tone. Nami's eyes snapped open at the sound to find the elder of her village gazing down at her, concern etched into his lined face.

"I came to find you," she said briskly, with no time for pleasantries. "With all due respect sir, we must send someone to retrieve the abyssal pearl immediately. The monsters from the depths will be coming, and without a moonstone –"

But she was interrupted by a gentle laugh. "You needn't worry, Nami," the old Marai said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The Tidecaller will come. I know you're impatient, but you must have faith. They have never failed to appear before, and never will."

Nami shook off the old man's grasp, frustration welling up inside her. "But we need them _now,_" she snapped. "It's been _days _since the moonstone went out. How much longer are we going to have to wait?" She gestured to the darkness of the abyss that loomed off to her right. "I bet you the things down in the depths aren't going to wait that long."

The old Marai shook his head slowly. "Patience, Nami," he repeated more firmly than before. "We must have patience."

Nami was done being patient. "If you won't send anyone, then I'm going," she spat at him. With a flourish of her tail, she was off, gliding through the waters towards her own dwelling. She ignored the calls of the elder and hardly heard the muttering of the other Marai who'd witnessed the event. "Puddle monsters," she whispered to herself as she darted inside her dwelling. If they weren't going to save themselves, she'd do it for them. Her hand found her staff resting by the doorway and she seized it, taking it with her as she moved deeper inside the house. There was no telling what she'd meet down there in the abyss and it was best to be prepared.

A shadow fell across her suddenly and Nami gave an angry huff. "You can't stop me from doing this," she said over her shoulder at whomever had followed her inside. "I'm going to find that pearl, and I'm going to get a moonstone for us. You can either help me or stay home."

The reply that she received was not what she expected though. "Why do you want to join the League, Nami?" came the elder's voice.

The young Marai paused, turning slowly around to confront her village's leader. He looked normal, but there was something odd about the way his eyes looked at her. She shuddered involuntarily before answering. "I got the pearl and went to exchange it with the landwalker for the moonstone," she said slowly. "When I got to the surface though, they never came. I waited for days for someone, _anyone_, to show up. I couldn't wait any longer."

The elder inclined his head as a signal for her to go on. "Your League offers its champions a place of celebrity," she continued. "If I fight for you, I'll be able to ask the world about the moonstone and where I can find one." She straightened her body, attempting to look like a Tidecaller should. "I will do whatever it takes to save my people."

An impassive stare greeted her statement. "And how does it feel to expose your mind?" the illusion asked.

Nami shrugged. "It's a small price to pay to save the Marai, don't you think?" she answered. The elder didn't reply to the comment, but a second later Nami found herself once more in the Reflection Chamber in the Institute of War. She shivered briefly at the feel of air on her skin once more, then forged onwards to take her place as the newest champion of the League.


	5. Judgment: Zed, the Master of Shadows

Merry Christmas all! Following a brief hiatus for the holidays, I return once more with an entry for Zed. I've only played as him once, but his character was very interesting - not really what I expected at all. He proved difficult to write for, so if you have any suggestions for me about this chapter, please leave a review.

League of Legends and all characters within are owned by Riot Games, not me.

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Candidate: Zed

Date: November 13th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The self-proclaimed Master of Shadows strides smoothly through the Great Hall, his every step demonstrating his power and grace. Despite the heavy armor he wears, the ninja makes scarcely a sound as he traverses the elegant tiles that make up the floor. Gleaming red eyes burn within his face mask, flickering around the room and absorbing every small detail. They stop briefly on the inscription above the doorway and narrow slightly, but other than that there is no further indication of Zed's emotions. He shows no surprise as the doors to the Reflecting Chamber swing open for him and steps into the welcoming shadows beyond without a trace of fear.

REFLECTION:

The lack of vision did not disturb Zed as the doors closed behind him. The shadows had always been his friends, even before he'd found the mysterious box hidden deep within the temple that unlocked his powers. The Kinkou Order trained him to accept the shadows as allies, to use their concealing embrace to hide his actions and cover his tracks and Zed had never forgotten the lessons, even if the order that taught them was nothing but dust. He stood still within the Reflecting Chamber, perfectly at ease, and waited for the Summoners to begin their test.

Seconds later, candles flickered to life on all sides of the ninja. He stood alone, suddenly clad in nothing more than a simple black uniform, in the center of a wooden-walled chamber that he recognized as the Kinkou's sparring arena. Through the dim light, Zed could make out the form of a young man standing opposite from him, dressed in identical clothing to what Zed currently wore. Though his features were all but obscured, Zed knew him – he had spent hours of his life with this same man, learning the ways of the Kinkou together. "Shen," he breathed, hands clenching into fists instinctively.

"Zed," his nemesis said, emotionless. "Are you prepared?"

Zed nodded, settling back into the fighting stance that had been beaten into him since his first month at the monastery. Shen mirrored his movements without need for words. For a few long seconds the two trainees held their stances, waiting for the other to make the first strike.

"Zed," his nemesis said, emotionless. "Are you prepared?"

Zed nodded and settled back into his fighting stance, banishing all concerns and doubts from his mind. His conscious thought ceased its activity and gave over to pure, razor-sharp concentration. Emotions evaporated instantly, leaving Zed's body behind as nothing more than a programmed machine of battle. He waited and watched as Shen fell into his own fighting stance, taking note of every facet of his opponent's body in a search for a weak point. For almost a full minute neither combatant moved, each waiting for the other to make the first strike.

It was only when a floorboard creaked suddenly in the room above them that the two ninjas-in-training moved. Zed plunged across the sparring chamber's floor, unleashing a withering barrage of blows upon his opponent only to find each one summarily deflected. He pushed Shen back under the force of his assault, pressing the advantage, until his opponent finally decided to make his move. In an instant Shen vanished into the semidarkness of the room around them, but Zed heard the faint whisper of the air and knew where the ninja had gone. He pivoted on the stop, bringing his arm above his head just in time to stop his opponent's strike. He retreated before Shen, their roles temporarily reversed as his foe rained attacks down on his guard.

But Zed was far from helpless. Rather, he waited until Shen had overcommitted himself to a wicked roundhouse kick before deciding that his time had come to counterattack. Zed's right hand caught Shen's leg in mid-swing and he darted past the ninja's guard, throwing his shoulder into Shen's chest. His foe staggered backwards, but a last-minute backflip kept him from falling over. No sooner had Shen touched the ground again than Zed was all over him, furiously pummeling his opponent's guard. For another few seconds that seemed to last an eternity the ninja battled toe-to-toe, each one pushing themselves to the limit of their abilities, before finally Zed was forced to spring away. A second's respite was all he got – Shen dashed after him, eager to resume their battle. Zed assumed a defensive posture and obliged his opponent.

The battle lasted almost twenty minutes, with the advantage fluctuating between both combatants but never settling on one or the other. Shen and Zed were both exhausted and in pain from blows that their opponent managed to land, but neither one was willing to back down. Each was determined that the match should end in victory or defeat and to that end they would fight forever. As the fight dragged on though, a single word echoed throughout the chamber: "Enough!"

Both ninjas froze in mid-battle and stepped apart, their heads lowered in respect. A dark shape rose up suddenly from the corner of the room, his face obscured by the glow of the candles that burned around him. Zed didn't need to see his face to know who it was. The Master of the Kinkou Order – and Shen's father – always spectated their sparring sessions. "We will go no further today. You both fought well, but there will be no victor in this battle. Tomorrow, we shall resume the match."

"Master," Shen responded, clapping his fists together in acceptance of the order. Zed followed suit, but on the inside he burned with jealousy and frustration. For the thirty-third time in so many days, a match between Shen and himself had ended in a draw. If his opponent found the results as annoying as Zed did, he never showed it, but Zed could hardly stand the outcome. No matter how hard he fought, he could never gain an advantage over his opponent. He was sure that the Master was secretly teaching Shen combat techniques that no other student knew – how else would the other ninja even be coming close to his level? – but there was nothing he could do about that.

With the Master's dismissal, the two ninja exited the chamber into the night beyond. Zed fumed behind his impassive exterior. There had to be some way he could learn to defeat Shen – a hidden technique, a secret weapon, _something_. The monastery was old and full of ancient knowledge, and perhaps somewhere within its walls he would find the key to his victory. Zed forced himself to remain patient until tomorrow. Once he had recovered from the match, he would scour the temple.

"Why do you want to join the League, Zed?" came Shen's voice, breaking Zed out of his musings. He turned to face his former opponent, noting instantly the change in his eyes and voice.

"I seek to continue the battle between myself and the Kinkou Order," Zed responded evenly. "I will show the world the foolishness of order and balance with my victories on the Fields of Justice. When they see the Eye of Twilight and his comrades falling again and again to my blades, they will realize the truth of my way and the way of the Shadow."

The illusory clone of Shen made no response to the statement, but a second later Zed once more found himself in the comforting darkness of the Reflecting Chamber. Without hesitation, he strode forwards towards the Doors of Acceptance. The reign of shadows was about to begin.


	6. Judgment: Viktor, the Machine Herald

Up next, we've got the Machine Herald, Viktor. I've played as him a few times and while I didn't find him very enjoyable in-game, he certainly is an interesting character. Let me know what you think in the reviews!

League of Legends and all characters are the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Viktor

Date: December 29th, 20 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Though Viktor was born a human being, no traces of his heritage can be seen as he enters the Great Hall. His entire body is covered in what appears to be a stylized Zaunite radiation suit, covering and protecting what few fleshy parts he still has. His forearms are protected by massive silver gauntlets that crackle with electrical power – or perhaps the steel contraptions have simply replaced his old limbs. A third arm sprouts from somewhere on his back, swaying imperiously above his head with all digits twitching restlessly, as though eager to get back to work. Viktor's face is hidden behind an impassive steel mask that gazes at the room with cold yellow eyes, taking in his surroundings with a measured gaze.

The scientist's measured strides take him across the room in little time, as though he is in a hurry to return to his lab. Upon reaching the great doors at the end of the hall, Viktor watches without emotion as they swing open before him. With a swirl of his cloak, the Zaunite professor enters the darkness beyond.

REFLECTION:

Though the darkness of the Reflecting Chamber proves impervious to Viktor's various night vision augments, the scientist remains totally at ease. He catalogued the event carefully in his mind so as to perform the necessary improvements to his vision later, in case another such incident occurred. In the meantime though, Viktor only felt slightly perturbed by his lack of vision. Fear is a human emotion and not one that he feels any more.

An instant later though, Viktor's mind reeled in sudden surprise as the darkness receded, revealing a steel-clad room filled with various techmaturgical instruments. White-robed scientists bustled throughout the chamber, manipulating the machines or frantically comparing notes with each other, speaking in hushed voices that echoed off the steel panels above. At the center of their attentions was the gleaming bronze carapace of some kind of techmaturgical man standing atop a raised iron platform. Though the memory was from years ago, Viktor recognized the manlike machine on sight. A faint smile crept to his now-human lips as his eyes lingered on the lifeless frame of the Great Steel Golem.

A control panel rested in front of him and Viktor accessed it immediately, reviewing the technical specifications of the robot even though he'd long since committed them to memory. A sense of forgotten pride swelled his chest as he read through the neurological circuit report. He had pioneered the creation of artificial brains like the one that rested inside the techmaturgical man before him. If he was right about its performance – and he usually was – the machine would be a sentient being in its own right once it was turned on. Techmaturgical creation of intelligent beings would almost certainly vault him to a spot on the board of directors at the college – perhaps even obtain for him a position at the Institute of War. The sweet glow of success burned before his eyes, but Viktor forced himself to ignore it. They weren't done yet.

"Professor Stanwick," he called from his control post at the gray-haired scientist. "Are we ready to begin the procedure?"

The man looked up from his own control panel, giving a curt nod to Viktor. "We are prepared to begin whenever you are, Viktor," he called back. Annoyance twanged in Viktor's gut at Stanwick's informal address to himself, but he shook his head and forgot about the emotion. There would be time for reprimands later.

"Commencing power-up procedures," Viktor stated, leaning down towards the built-in microphone on his panel. "All hands, clear the area." The remaining techmaturgists fled the area swiftly, making for the safety of their own observation panels. Viktor gave them a second to clear out before resuming his announcement. "Power on in three… Two… One…"

His hand threw a lever forwards, sending an electrical current racing through a wire and into the robot's head. Static crackled through the air and a white glow lit up the machine's eyes. The hiss of steam filled the room as the boiler-engine within the golem's carapace slowly began to turn over – a giant steel heart for a giant steel man. Viktor watched with baited breath for any signs of life, eyes dashing to every twitch and every minute movement that the machine made. He'd double- and triple-checked every component. It must work. It MUST work.

And finally, just when the scientist was beginning to feel the agony of failure build in his gut, the Great Steam Golem's body jerked upwards. Massive fingers clenched together, then opened, followed by the machine's first tiny steps. Its head swiveled around its body, taking in the room and the humans that stared back at it, wonder in their eyes. "GREET-INGS," it said in a rasping metallic voice. "I AM THE GREAT STEAM GOL-EM. FIRED UP AND REA-DY TO SERVE."

A moment of silence followed the golem's speech. Mere instants later though, the entire room was filled with the thunderous sound of the research team applauding. Men slapped each other on the back in congratulations, hugged their neighbors, or simply collapsed onto chairs, relief etched into every line on their face. Viktor showed no outward emotion other than an approving nod, but on the inside his being was filled with incredible pride. His design had succeeded and, barring a few tests on the robot's mental aptitude, would see him vault to the top of his career.

The voice of Professor Stanwick caught Viktor's ear and broke him out of his reverie. "I've done it!" the man was shouting as a crowd of admiring well-wishers gathered around him. "I've done it!"

The annoyance that Viktor had held at bay throughout the turning-on procedure returned stronger than ever. "You mean _we've_ done it, Professor Stanwick," he called in the scientist's direction as he stepped down from his control platform. "It was my designs that made this possible, if you recall."

Stanwick's cold gray eyes found Viktor's. "Of course," he said in a monotone. "It was a 'team effort'. That is what I meant to say." He stuck out a hand towards Viktor. "Congratulations, Professor." But the sentiment never reached his eyes, and even as Viktor shook Stanwick's hand he thought he could see a trace of jealousy deep in the other scientist's eyes. A deep fear shot through him, a sudden, paranoid urge to secure his lab notebook as soon as possible to prevent his designs from being stolen, but Viktor shrugged off the instinct. This was his moment of triumph. There would be time to publish his findings later.

"Congratulations to yourself, Stanwick," Viktor replied coolly, and released his grasp. "I couldn't have done it without your help." A lie, but it would perhaps mollify his partner.

Something changed suddenly in Stanwick's eyes. "Did you know that even now, the professor planned to betray you?" he said suddenly, his voice distorted from its normal tenor. Viktor's normally analytical mind was thrown by the sudden statement, and it was several seconds before he remembered the Summoners and the Reflection Chamber.

"I did not," he admitted to the illusory Professor Stanwick. "It was only when I saw the project in a scientific journal the next day that I realized I'd been betrayed. By then it was too late to do anything about it – the college wouldn't agree to hear my protests without proof, and my notebook had been stolen."

A trace of some emotion – pity, perhaps? – flashed through the false professor's eyes. "And your solution to this problem was to mechanize yourself?" he asked. "To replace your humanity with these hextech augmentations?

Viktor drew himself to his full height. "Flesh is weak," he said. "It is the human condition that you should lie, steal, and murder each other without a second thought. I offer a solution to your pitiful race – to become stronger in mind and body through scientific advancements. The revolution is coming, Summoner – a glorious revolution that will see your race transformed anew, evolving into a higher plane of existence. Such is the blessing I bring."

Stanwick's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to join the League?" he asked suddenly, his voice growing colder by a notch.

"My creations are imperfect," Viktor admitted. "Created by human hands… these pitiful augments are nothing compared with what they could be. On the Fields of Justice, I will show you their superiority even in this base state. Their flaws shall be discovered in the heat of battle and extinguished, as survival of the fittest dictates. Only then will my revolution begin."

"And how does it feel, exposing your mind?"

Viktor made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. "For the sake of progress, I can bear any setback," he said. "But should I sense your Summoners prying into things that do not concern them -" he made a fist – "You will know the true power of my designs."

The Reflecting Chamber reappeared around him and Viktor was once more what he was – half machine, half human. With a hand of steel tightening around his staff, the Machine Herald marched onwards towards the future – one that he intended to build himself.


	7. Judgment: Diana, Scorn of the Moon

I think Diana is one of the deepest and most interesting characters that the League has to offer and I was actually very excited when someone requested her. Her relationship with Leona is also an interesting one and I'd love to eventually explore that - but for now, I'll just focus on Judgments.

League of Legends and all characters are the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Diana

Date: August 7th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION:

She walks like a prisoner about to be executed, facing forwards with her chin jutted upwards, as though defying some unseen captor. Her strides are powerful and graceful at the same time, and she seems capable of launching into a dead-on sprint at a moment's notice. Her skin is pale, an odd trait for a former Solari warrior, and a white symbol reminiscent of the moon gleams on her forehead. Her only weapon is a massive, curved blade that ends in a wicked hook – a wicked sword for a hunted individual. Diana's armor can hardly be said to gleam. Like the black night that surrounds and protects the moon, it seems to absorb the light from around it and draws attention to her haunted eyes. The warrior wastes little energy or time as she crosses the Great Hall. In a few moments, she stands before the Reflecting Chamber's doors, gazing up at the inscription above them: _The truest opponent lies within_. Her eyes betray none of her thoughts, and as the doors swing open for her she steps inside without a moment's hesitancy.

REFLECTION:

Diana found a certain solace in the darkness of the Reflecting Chamber. Though she knew that any Solari would be uneasy by their sudden lack of light, she was more accustomed to the darkness than they were. Her childhood had been spent out under the stars at night, pondering the moon's significance, or in the darkness of the Solari archives, searching for the truth. In a culture filled with light, Diana had managed to find her own dark corners in which to thrive, it seemed.

But the chamber did not stay dark for long. Seconds after her entrance, she found herself once more on Mount Targon's slopes, gazing up at the lights of the Solari temple above. The world around her gleamed with a silvery light and she trained her eyes upwards towards the sky. A full moon hung there, illuminating the world as only it could – with a delicate, gentle light that neither could blind nor burn. Diana gazed at the sphere for a moment or two before resuming her journey towards the temple. The elders would be within, discussing developments within the Solari conclave – a perfect moment for her to reveal what she had discovered. _They cannot doubt the truth now_, she thought silently.

The doors of the room burst open loudly with her arrival, causing all within the chamber to cease their arguments at once and direct their attention to her. Confusion and fear were the first things she saw on their faces, but they swiftly gave way to complete and utter shock. Diana had expected a sudden uproar to come from the elders at her arrival, but the room was more silent than a graveyard at midnight. Undeterred, she made her way into the center of the chamber, her black armor gleaming conspicuously in the torchlight. They would hear her tale.

"Elders of the Solari," she spoke loudly, "you have been mistaken in claiming that only the sun is worthy of worship. With the help of the archives, I discovered a forgotten temple deep within the Targon Valley. These weapons," she said, raising her crescent blade high, "are proof of its existence. There must have once been a people like us, a people known as the Lunari, who worshipped the moon instead of the sun – as I do." She lowered her weapon then, being sure to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. "I know this is a shock, but together, we have a chance to learn so much more about our past."

The silence following her words stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. Diana's heart was pounding with excitement following her pronouncement, but the scorn on the faces of the elders dampened the emotion. Confusion rose in her heart – why did they seem unhappy with her for finding the truth?

A sudden shout came from somewhere behind her: "Heresy!" Diana whirled to find one of the elders, an older man whom she recognized as one of her former teachers, rising from his seat, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. "The false Solari lies, brethren! The moon has never been worshipped, nor will ever be worshipped!"

Diana was frozen in shock from the accusation. Heresy? She had proof! "I can take you to the temple, if you wish," she responded, her words suddenly clumsy and awkward in her mouth. "Elders, you must believe –"

"He is right, Diana," another voice said, this one belonging to a young woman. "You are a heretic who had gone against everything that the Solari uphold, and for that, the punishment is death." She gestured at the two soldiers who stood by the doors of the chamber. "We will not tolerate any more of this foolish talk of the moon, Diana. Carry out her sentence immediately."

A low rumble of voices echoed around Diana as the soldiers began purposefully moving towards her, their swords springing from their sheaths. Diana's head spun. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. How could they do this to her? All she had done was find the truth – was that really so wrong? She stumbled backwards away from the advancing guards, the moonsilver blade sudden awkward in her hands. Her eyes searched the faces of the elders, looking for mercy, but all she found were their hard, cold stares. "I didn't do anything wrong!" she protested weakly, but all she heard in response was a shouted "Heretic!"

As the guards drew closer, Diana suddenly realized that there was no help coming from the elders. They wished to punish her for the simple truth that she brought before them, ignoring everything she'd shown them, all because of a blinding love for the sun. The thought was maddening, and Diana suddenly found herself full of anger towards the old fools who even now watched as her execution drew closer. The emotion was surprising at first, but she accepted it without a moment's hesitation – the Solari were her enemies now. She had never belonged with them and never would. In that moment, Diana ceased her cowardly cringing and stood tall, the crescent blade in her hand suddenly light as a feather. She lifted her gaze to the sky, towards the open skylight in the temple's ceiling that had always let the sun's light shine through. The moon gleamed there now as a silver eye that saw her plight, and she silently called upon its strength. _Grant me the power to slay your foes_, she thought. _Grant me the power to bring down their lying sun._

A silver ray of light shone down from the heavenly body, bathing Diana in its radiance and bringing a halt to the guard's relentless advance on her. In an instant, the torches that illuminated the room were snuffed out as though by a great wind, leaving only the pale white glow of the moon. Diana raised the blade she'd found in the ancient Lunari temple, her body suddenly filled with a rush of power. "You leave me no choice," she spoke into the darkened silence. Her body blurred into motion and Diana disappeared into the darkness, blade at the ready.

When she finally reappeared from the shadows into the silvery luminosity of the moon above, the temple was in ruins. Torn Solari banners flapped halfheartedly from the walls where they hung and rubble crumbled from the ceiling, widening the hole above to admit more of the moon's light. The bodies lay everywhere, crumpled where they had attempted to flee, or fight, or both. They had been no match for her might, cut down in an instant by her blade or by the silvery energy that she willed forth from her body. Finding the center of the chamber, Diana knelt, paying homage to the moon – her true deity. The Solari elders had sought to blind her to the truth, and when that failed, silence her voice forever. Her task, now and forevermore, was certain – to bring down their lying sun and expose their deceit.

As she rose to her feet, Diana found a man in purple robes standing before her. "Is this why you seek to join the League, Diana?" he asked mildly, gesturing at the carnage surrounding them. "To kill innocents?"

"They were not _innocent_," Diana spat. "They lied to me and lie to everyone who lives atop Mount Targon. They are a cult of heathens, worshipping a deity that burns its followers alive. I will not stand for that. I will hunt down all those who claim to be Solari and show them the error of their ways."

The Summoner's eyes narrowed. "You speak of Leona." he stated simply.

Diana made no response to his words, but the Summoner seemed to know the answer anyways. "And how does it feel, exposing your mind?" he asked finally.

She glared at him. "It will be unpleasant. Not so much for me as it will be for you."

The Summoner gave a noncommittal shrug and disappeared as the darkness of the Reflecting Chamber shimmered back into life. The transition back to reality from the world of memory was disconcerting for Diana, but less so than the other way around. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade as she stared at the doors ahead, only one thought in her mind: _Dusk approaches…_


	8. Judgment: Ashe, the Frost Archer

Welcome back everyone. This week I'm bringing you the Judgment for Ashe, the Frost Archer. This piece was a bitch to write in multiple ways and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. As a side note, Sigrun and Anna's names were taken from a database of Nordic names, since that seemed to fit Freljord pretty well.

Additionally, school for me is starting up pretty soon, which means I'll have a lot less time to work with when writing these. I've been trying to keep a rough schedule of once a week updates, but that may end up getting off over the semester. We'll have to see how it goes.

League of Legends, all locations, and Ashe are the property of Riot Games Inc. I do not own the rights.

* * *

Candidate: Ashe

Date: February 21st, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Though the Great Hall has been graced by many champions within the last few days, this is the first time it has seen a Freljordian. Princess Ashe, who prefers to be known by her tribal title, The Frost Archer, is the perfect image of her people – pale skin, vibrantly blue eyes, and a slight frame. True to form, Ashe has forgone her elegant royal outfits on this day; instead, she comes clad in the deep-blue hooded cloak and gauntlets that she typically wears to battle. Though the short dress she wears underneath the cloak seems far too small to provide any protection against the cold, it is more than enough for a native-born Freljordian. In her right hand she carries a sparkling crystal bow that shimmers with the light and casts blue prisms of color on the floor around her. A simple quiver hangs on her back, from which the tails of an uncountable number of arrows protrude.

Ashe's calm, self-assured steps take her across the Great Hall in no time, but she hesitated briefly at the doors to the Reflecting Chamber, as though she is unsure of what happens next. When they swing open noiselessly to admit her though, the Frost Archer wastes no time and swiftly steps through.

REFLECTION:

The suddenness of the dark and quiet put Ashe's nerves on edge, but she willed herself to stay calm. The Summoners had spoken of a test, yes, but she was sure it couldn't be a deadly one – they wouldn't want to risk killing off a prospective champion so soon after the formation of the League of Legends. Even despite that reassuring thought, Ashe couldn't help but slide one hand upwards towards her quiver for an arrow. It was better to be prepared for the worst than to be caught by it unexpectedly.

But even as her fingers grasped for a weapon, she suddenly was aware that her quiver had disappeared from her back. Her right hand's fingertips tingled as well with the sudden absence of her bow and Ashe felt suddenly naked without the weapon. She had only just started to feel the first traces of fear when the darkness around her suddenly receded and she found herself in a familiar place once more – her home back in Freljord. Even more startling, she found herself gazing into the eyes of a much younger Ashe who was dressed in a simple gown of pure white. It was a few seconds before she realized that it was actually a reflection in a mirror that she was gazing upon. Her mind spun with confusion, but the scene made sense somehow – as if she'd seen it before.

She was interrupted suddenly by a pair of women pushing their way into her tent. She recognized the pair of them instantly as memories from her childhood – her old caretaker, Anna, and a hooded warrior that she couldn't recognize instantly. Anna's face was drawn tight with what appeared to be grief, but as she saw the young Ashe she forced a smile onto her face. "Ashe my darling," she said, sweeping towards the young girl and giving her a hug. "How are you feeling today?"

Ashe returned the embrace automatically, but alarm bells clanged in her head. Anna was kinder than most Freljordians, but never gave out such overt signs of affection, and never around others. Something had happened. "I am well," she responded shortly. "Is something wrong?"

Anna pulled back from the hug, kneeling before Ashe so as to be able to look her in the eyes. "Honey, I am so sorry to tell you this. I am so, so, sorry." Tears welled up in the woman's eyes then, and she rubbed them swiftly away with the hem of her sleeve before continuing. "Your mother… she went out this morning on a patrol into the Winter Claw's territory." Anna tried to continue, but her voice caught in her throat. "Sigrun was with her, she can explain better," she said, gesturing at the hooded woman.

Ashe recognized the name instantly and as Sigrun threw back her hood, the woman's scarred visage was familiar. She'd been her mother's right-hand for as long as Ashe could remember. Sigrun briefly performed the fist-to-heart salute as she stepped forwards to tell the story. "Your mother and I set out at first light this morning to investigate rumors of a potential Winter Claw raid from the north," she said, her voice sharp and matter-of-fact. "As it turns out, the rumors were true. We came across a force of perhaps thirty warriors, well-trained and well-equipped. Given our superior position, your mother gave the order for us to open fire from the heights. Half of them were slaughtered instantly, while the other half took shelter in the rocks below."

Sigrun paused, as though debating the wisdom of continuing her speech. "Your mother was determined to dispatch the entirety of their force and so kept us on the assault," she went on, a little slowly. "During the fight, she was struck by an arrow in her chest. I immediately called for us to fall back and return to the village, but your mother was to grievously wounded to make the journey." She halted her words once more, blinking rapidly as though determined not to show emotion. "Ashe, I'm sorry to say, but your mother is dead."

Ashe scarcely moved at the words. She couldn't even begin to think of what to say, or how she should react. "You know what that means, don't you dear?" Anna said with a half-hearted smile, the tears coming down her face faster now. "You are the Frost Archer now, and the ruler of our tribe." She set a long package wrapped in boar-hide at Ashe's feet. "Your mother wanted you to have that."

Ashe reached out towards the hide, barely conscious of her actions. A glitter of blue was the first thing to greet her eyes and she lifted the crystalline bow and arrow from their wrappings. She knew the weapon instinctively, as all the members of her tribe did – it was Avarosa's bow, the original founder of their clan and the reason they were referred to as the Tribe of the Frost Archer. It had been passed down through generations, from mother to daughter, until it reached Ashe's mother – and now her.

The sight of the weapon and the memory of its sleek form hanging off her mother's shoulder was too much. Ashe threw the weapon aside and fled the hut, pushing past the startled Sigrun and Anna and making out into the cold morning beyond. She ran aimlessly, taking no notice of the others she passed as tears fogged her vision and sobs wracked her breath. It was only when she felt she could run no longer that she finally sank down into the shelter of a stack of logs and let her emotions run free.

Some time later – perhaps an hour, perhaps only a few minutes – she was aware of another presence watching her. "What do you want?" Ashe mumbled at the blonde-haired girl looking down at her.

"Nothin'" came the reply, along with a slight tilt of her head. "My mam told me what happened. I'm sorry."

Ashe made no reply, hoping that the intruder would go away. Instead, the girl sat down next to her. "You know, the same thing happened to my pap a few months ago," she said. "Winter Claws caught him out by the lake one day. I never got to tell him goodbye that morning neither." Ashe lifted her gaze back to the girl, who was staring back with understanding eyes. "I ran back here same as you did. Thought I wanted to live here from now on. But I figgered that my mam needed my help more than ever. So I went back after a while."

The little girl shrugged her shoulders at Ashe's blank look. "Listen, you're the Frost Archer now, aren't you?" she asked. "You can't let the rest of us go like I wanted to with my mam. You gotta come back and help us, 'cause we're gonna need you more than ever now." It was only then that the girl's eyes broke away and she stared off into the distance. "I don't want lose my mam and I don't wanna see any more girls hiding back here like you're doing."

Ashe looked down at her feet, squeezing her eyes shut. During her flight her mind had been swirling with confusion and chaos, but now it was as clear as fresh-fallen snow. She knew what she had to do. She had the power and responsibility to unite the tribes and end the bloodshed – for both her mother's sake, and for the sake of everyone else. She glanced back up at the little girl. "Thanks," she said, offering a small smile. "I'll do my best."

But the response broke suddenly away from the memory. "Why do you want to join the League, Ashe?" the little girl said. Ashe recoiled from the question, suddenly remembering who and where she was. Her conscience rebelled at the knowledge that someone else had seen her private memories, but she attempted to keep a straight face.

"I am joining the League to put an end to the warring in Freljord," she said confidently. "My people will no longer stand divided. The War of the Three Sisters will finally be over, and I ask the aid of the Institute of War in exchange for my participation in your League."

The little girl gave a small chuckle that didn't seem quite right to Ashe. "We will not intervene directly with your struggles," she said. "But you are welcome to try. Your work in the League will not go unnoticed by the world. Your political status may be more useful to you than anything we could do for you."

A moment of silence filled the air as Ashe waited for the little girl to continue speaking. "Am I free to go now?" she asked, sick of the mind-to-mind contact.

The girl laughed again. "There was another question, but I think I already know the answer to that," she said with a smile. "You'd best get used to it, Princess – your mind will be linked with more Summoners than just me."

Ashe began to make a retort, but found herself suddenly arguing with the darkness of the Reflecting Chamber. After mentally cursing the Summoner who'd examined her, she composed herself once more and made for the Doors of Acceptance ahead. Freljord had its champion – and she would not fail.


	9. Judgment: Twisted Fate, the Card Master

So I intended to upload an Ahri Judgment this week, but after numerous failed attempts I decided to hold off on it until I can really nail it down. Instead, I dashed off a quick piece for Twisted Fate, arguably the most sly motherfscker in the entire League. He was a LOT of fun to write for and an interesting character, which is why this is so long. Let me know what you think of this, and I promise I'll get the Ahri Judgment uploaded by next week. Enjoy!

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games, not me.

* * *

Candidate: Twisted Fate

Date: February 21st, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Though the man walking through the hall is a known criminal with a bounty on his head in almost every city-state, he hardly acts as one. He strides boldly through the chamber, a slight swagger in his step and his hands in his pockets, scarcely paying any attention to the ornate statutes and art that adorns the walls around him. His outfit is showy, clearly meant to impress, and he appears for all intents and purposes to be a wealthy casino owner, rather than a thief who steals primarily from said casinos. Though his midnight-blue coat and showy red vest are clearly new, his fedora appears somewhat more ragged than the rest of the ensemble. A single playing card – the ace of spades – nestles in a band that wraps around the hat.

Twisted Fate's unnaturally blue eyes flicker up towards the inscription that rests above the Reflecting Chamber's doors as he makes his approach and he absorbs the words with a small smile sliding across his face. The man leaves his hands in his pockets as the doors open for him, as though he'd known that they would yield to his presence. He steps inside without the faintest trace of hesitancy, the jangling of poker chips in his pocket echoing behind him.

REFLECTION:

Though Twisted Fate had heard wild stories about what went on in the Reflecting Chamber, he remained perfectly at ease with himself as the doors snapped shut behind him. Coming to a stop, the man reached inside his pocket for a small gold coin, flipping it between his fingers as he idly waited for the Summoners to begin their test. "Any time you wanna start, lemme know," he said to the empty void as he sent the coin upwards with a flick of his thumb.

As the gold disc disappeared from his hand, the darkness instantly receded, leaving Fate blinking in the light. A single bulb hung on a chain from the ceiling, providing light to what appeared to be a run-down motel room. A single bed – more of a cot than anything – rested in the corner, just underneath a grimy and cracked window. A small table stood in the center of the room, accompanied by a pair of chairs that both appeared to have lost their fourth leg. Fate's nose wrinkled in disgust at the appalling squalor. He'd stayed in worse places before, but this was certainly low on his list.

The gold coin bounced merrily off Fate's outstretched hand and tumbled to the ratty carpeting below. The man cursed as it fell, stooping immediately to pick it up before any dust coated its pristine surface.

"Hell, I ain't never seen you drop a flipped coin like that," came a low growl from behind Fate. As he stood up with the disc in hand, Twisted Fate found himself looking once more into the eyes of his former partner: Malcolm Graves. The shock kept Fate from saying anything initially, but Graves didn't appear to be in a murderous mood – in fact, he seemed quite amused. "You okay?"

The smirk on Graves' face annoyed Fate out of his mute state. "I just kinda expected someplace a little more livable, that's all," he remarked cooly as he stowed the coin away in his pants pocket. "Doesn't look like anyone's stayed here for decades."

Graves chuckled, moving past Fate and dropping a bag of his personal belongings on the bed. "That's the point of lyin' low, Fate," he said as he unzipped the case and began rooting through it. "Gotta go somewhere they're not gonna think to find you. Priggs's arm is long, but he's got no dice here in Noxus. We lay low for a while and he's gonna forget all about us." He stood, deck of cards in hand, and began idly shuffling as he sat back on the mattress. "You care for a game?"

Fate hesitated for a second, his hand still in his pocket. His fingers brushed against a small piece of paper that he'd been slipped earlier as they entered Noxus, as though to make sure it was still there. "Nah, think I'm alright for the moment," he said, taking a half-step backwards. "Hey, you think it's safe if I head out to grab a drink? Them Zaunite bastards aren't dogging our footsteps yet, right?"

Graves ceased his shuffling. "What'cha got against my homemade whiskey?" he said with a short bark of a laugh, pulling the familiar brown wine bottle from his bag. "Too strong for ya?"

Fate managed a half-hearted chuckle in return. "I've had enough of it to answer that question for you," he responded. "Nah, just looking for a real beer for once. Haven't had a decent brew since we left Zaun."

Graves nodded. "I know the feelin'. Think you should be okay tonight, but just keep your head down and eyes off the pretty girls. You start a fight with their boyfriends, you're gonna get Priggs down on us faster than a sucker dives for spilled chips." He gave another laugh at his own joke while Fate did his best to look amused. "Go ahead, I got my bottle to keep me company."

Twisted Fate slipped out the door as Graves tipped back the alcohol, clearly meaning to get drunk for the first time in a long while. As he made his way down the hall, his hand pulled the tiny piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolding it carefully. He didn't know how it had ended up on his person, but the message written on the inside of it cleared any doubts as to whom it was from: _Found you again. I have a proposition for you. Meet my associate at the following address_. Ordinarily he would have let Graves know what had happened, but the fact that it had been given to him alone meant that something was up. Priggs wouldn't have simply let the two of them walk if he knew where they were.

Ten minute later, Fate found himself at the door of the "Noxian Pride", a run-down bar that he used to frequent until he'd been run out of town for hustling a certain Noxian bureaucrat. Its address had been scrawled at the bottom of Priggs' note, which was a little disconcerting for Fate – if Priggs knew about his patronage here, what else did he know? His hand smoothed the playing card that he'd stuck in his fedora, caressing the small piece of cardboard for luck, before he stepped inside the dingy establishment.

The place had changed little since Fate's departure from Noxus. The scarred dartboards still hung in the corner, the familiar bottles of alcohol gleamed in the pale green light, and the bar's lone poker table still sat in the exact spot that Fate remembered. What he didn't remember was the bar ever being so empty. Aside from the bartender wiping a glass at the counter, there was only one other soul in the place – a man wearing a black trenchcoat and eyepatch who was seated at the old card table. Fate's gut tightened at the sight. _May as well get this on with_, he thought to himself. _Time to play the game_.

"Howdy," he said as he sidled up to the stranger, who didn't bother looking up at him. "You care for a game?" Fate asked, gesturing at the table.

"We both know why I'm here," the man responded, his words thick with a Zaunite accent. "Please, have a seat." His tone brooked no argument.

Fate sat, poker face sliding into place almost imperceptibly. "I'm assuming you're working for Priggs then, huh?" he asked, speaking softly.

The man shifted in his chair, his lone eye staring back into Fate's. "Obviously," he responded, voice heavy with sarcasm. "It amazes me how you've been able to outwit one of the finest scientific minds for so long, Mister…" his voice trailed off, searching for a name.

"Fate," Twisted Fate offered, a smile on his face as he ignored the insult. He reached a hand out across the table for a handshake. "Just call me Fate."

The Zaunite agent took the somewhat odd name without a blink. "Mr. Fate, then," he said as they shook. "My employer, whom you and your partner scammed some months ago, has been quite, shall we say, focused, on hunting you down. His whole mind – his whole being – is trained solely on finding you and making you suffer in whatever ways he can devise. I have seen the things he does to people who cross him. They are not what any sane individual wishes to go through."

Fate sat back, his gut tightening even though he face was relaxed. "So then why're we meetin' here?" he asked calmly. "I figure if you're able to slip me a note on my way into town, you're certainly capable of killing me and Malcolm right now." His right hand had slipped down below the table, wrapping around the holster of his revolver ever so quietly. If it was going to come to a head here, he wasn't going down without a fight.

The man gave a knowing smile. "You could have been killed as early as last night," he said. "But our orders have changed, Mr. Fate. You see, after so many months of you constantly eluding his grasp, my employer has decided upon a better way of dealing with you."

Fate's smile widened. "I'm listening," he said as he leaned in closer, palm sliding away from his gun.

"Tell me, Mr. Fate. When dealing with the law enforcement, which is easier – killing the man, or simply paying him off?"

"You saying what I think you're saying?"

"Close to it," the man said. "You seem to be the more reasonable half of your operation, so my employer is offering you a deal. A colleague of his, Dr. Xavier Rath, is currently looking for a volunteer for a procedure. If you give up Graves, we will allow you to participate in this test."

Fate snorted. "I know you think I'm stupid, but I ain't that dumb," he shot back. "Since when would I ever want to put myself at the mercy of a Zaunite professor's experiment?"

Another knowing smile flickered across the man's face. "The procedure in question is designed to bestow magical powers on someone who has no inherent magic of their own," he responded shortly.

The poke face slid off of Fate's face. "You serious?" he said after a brief pause.

A nod. "Dr. Rath is confident in his research," the agent replied. "Being a man of science myself, I have looked over his notes and believe that the procedure is sound. Should you undergo the test – provided you survive, of course – you will have access to magic."

Fate said nothing, his mind whirling. Graves was his partner and his best friend, but then again, he knew the stakes of their arrangement. They were con men, both of them – but who's to say that Graves wouldn't turn him in in exchange for a similar deal? "And all I gotta do is give you Graves?" Fate asked.

"That is the only requirement." The man extended a hand across the table towards Fate, waiting to seal the deal.

The choice was obvious. Graves wasn't coming back from anything that Priggs would do to him, and a lifetime of magical heists and power beckoned. It was too good to be true. "Well, partner, you're in business," Fate said, reaching out and clasping the agent's waiting palm. "I've got the address of Graves' place right now, and he's likely drunk out of his skull. You go now, you've got a shot at getting him."

The agent gave Fate a cutthroat smile. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fate," he said. "You will be contacted shortly about the procedure. Dr. Rath will be greatly pleased." He stood suddenly, straightening his coat. "I suppose you are intelligent after all."

Fate gave a smirk. "Well ain't that a surprise," he said, kicking his feet up on the card table. "Who'd have thought that little old me's smart?" He glanced towards the bartender as the agent made his departure, signaling for a beer. It was time to celebrate.

"Why do you want to join the League, Twisted Fate?" came the gravelly voice of Graves.

Fate leapt out of his chair at the sound, whirling towards the noise. His partner was standing before him, eyes black and face unreadable. Fate braced himself for the accusations to start, or for the swift bullet to the brain, but after several seconds passed he realized that Graves wasn't actually there. "You Summoners sure know your stuff, I guess," he said, exhaling a deep sigh of relief. "Had me going there for a second."

The fake Graves smiled. "You betrayed the man who was your best friend," he said, his words like a low roll of thunder. "Does that matter to you?"

Fate shrugged. "He woulda done the same to me, in my situation. Magic's not something that they're handing out on a platter these days."

"And if Graves escapes from Priggs?" the conman asked.

Twisted Fate chuckled. "I got assurances that Graves is staying behind bars for the rest of his life," he replied. "I ain't ever gonna see his ugly face again. 'Sides, you guys aren't going to let him kill a champion of the League, are you?"

The illusion's expression never wavered. "That remains to be seen," it responded. "You aren't a champion of the League yet, not until you answer my first question: Why do you want to join?"

"I figure the Institute of War's the place to be nowadays," Fate answered. "I could get rich and famous one poker hand at a time, but I'd rather not have another Priggs on my case. I don't trust my luck that far. 'Sides, why not? You guys don't want me or something?"

Graves ignored the question. "How does it feel to expose your mind like this?"

Another shrug. "If I catch you Summoners stealing my sleight of hand tricks, I ain't gonna be happy," Fate said jokingly. "Other than that, we're golden."

An instant later, the card shark found himself back in the Institute of War. The golden coin that he'd flipped so long ago spiraled down from the darkness above and landed square in the center of his palm. "Lucky again," Twisted Fate remarked, before pocketing it and setting off to take his place in the League of Legends.


	10. Judgment: Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox

As promised, here is my Judgment for Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox. Ahri is one of my favorite champions of the League, if not perhaps the one I'm strongest with, so I was glad when someone suggested this. I have no idea why, but it took me a long time to figure this Judgment out. I'm sure there are a few areas where I can improve this, but I'm reasonably happy with it at the moment. Any comments would be greatly appreciated though.

Also, I've only just realized that this is the tenth Judgment I've written thus far. I have to say, I didn't think I'd get even this many readers, so a big thank-you to everyone who comments, follows, or just plain reads these. You guys rock and I doubt I'd still be writing this series without you.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Game Inc. All credit goes to them

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Candidate: Ahri

Date: December 14th, 21 CLE

OBSERVATION:

One's eyes are drawn immediately to Ahri upon her entrance to the Great Hall and seemingly cannot move away. Though she is but one of many beautiful girls to seek entrance to the League of Legends, there is more about her than just good looks – a certain aura of sex appeal seems to follow her wherever she goes and entices even the most stalwart of hearts. Her outfit seems carefully chosen to emphasis this particular trait, riding low on her chest and high on her waist. A half-smile decorates her face – a soft, knowing expression that one cannot help but feel is directed at them.

However, it is very apparent that she is not fully human. A pair of black fox ears protrude from underneath her raven-colored hair, twitching this way and that at each little noise that reverberates through the hall. More obvious than her inhuman ears though is the mass of pearly-white tails that slides sinuously behind her. Though supposedly she possesses nine of them, a casual observer would be hard-pressed to count even half of that number before they lost track, and Ahri herself seems to avoid confirming the fact.

Though she neither turns nor hesitates on her way to the Reflecting Chamber's doors, Ahri seems content to take her time with the journey. She gives a soft giggle upon seeing the inscription above the giant stone slabs, then flinches in surprise as they open for her. Her composure is recovered within seconds though, and the nine-tailed fox enters the room beyond.

REFLECTION:

No sooner had the doors closed behind Ahri that she felt a sudden change in her body. She fell to all fours as white fur sprang out from her skin and her face suddenly bulged outwards, forming a snout. Mere seconds after the transformation had begun, she found herself once more as the nine-tailed fox that she had been for most of her life. Ahri's surroundings had changed along with her body, and it took her only a second to recognize the small Ionian forest in which she had spent most of her life.

The sudden reversion to her old form brought with it the same deep sense of unease that Ahri had felt throughout her entire animal life. The fox's body was lithe, strong, and far better than a human's body in terms of sensory detection, but Ahri could never help but feel that it ill-suited her. There was something intriguing about a human's body, something immensely curious about their movements and magic that Ahri couldn't get enough of. As it was though, she couldn't spend her time dreaming the day away – there was hunting to be done.

The scent of blood on the wind was what first caught Ahri's attention. Sniffing carefully, the white fox pinpointed the direction of the smell and leapt off in that direction, bounding gracefully and swiftly through the forest. Blood meant a kill, and a kill usually meant food. Though there were many beings residing in the forest that were stronger than she was, Ahri's tails and rarity allowed her to intimidate and scare away most creatures. It was always better to steal food than it was to hunt for it yourself.

After a quick, five-minute travel, Ahri found herself instinctually slowing down. She was nearing the edge of the forest, which meant approaching human territory. Though she was fascinated with the beings, they were equally in thrall with her and would not hesitate to chase her down. The scent of blood was even stronger now though, and Ahri began to suspect what she would see upon exiting the woods. She pushed her snout through the tangled branches of a bush, concealing her presence as she checked beyond the boundaries of the forest.

The sight that met her eyes was one that she had seen before, but which never failed to make her uneasy. As far as she could see lay dead human bodies, red oozing from their wounds and weapons scattered around their prone forms. Crows had descended from the sky and were busily feasting upon the deceased, a sight which many humans could not stomach but which meant nothing to Ahri. Several of the humans were still moving, but barely, and Ahri knew she had nothing to fear from them. They would be dead before long. She slipped through the brush, exiting the relative safety of the forest, and moved out onto the plain of battle. There was nothing here that she would willing consume, but curiosity pulled her onwards.

A sudden scuffling noise broke through the sound of the crows cackling with one another over their spoils. Ahri twitched towards the noise instantly, prepared to flee, but nothing moved. Her ears picked up the soft, ragged sound of something breathing and she slowly moved forwards, her inquisitiveness getting the better of her again. A gleam of green was the first thing to catch her eye, and as she clambered over a pile of corpses she found a single human male lying on the ground, a green glow suffusing the air around him. He wore a long, flowing garment that was colored purple and appeared to be in pristine condition, apart from the long gash that had been torn in the chest through which his blood bubbled out. His lips moved soundlessly, knitting the field of healing that surrounded him, but as Ahri approached his words faltered and the light began to dim.

Ahri's instinct was to turn and leave the battlefield, but something about the man called to her. She stepped closer, cautiously watching the human for any sign of danger even though she knew he posed no threat. The man's eyes flickered in her direction as she approached, and a flash of some emotion flickered in his eyes – was it fear? She couldn't tell. But as she stared back into his gaze, Ahri almost felt as though he could see through her physical form and into her soul, where her true form resided.

The field of magic that surrounded the dying human suddenly pulsed with energy, its illumination brightening once more. Its green light began to change though, gradually lightening into a brilliant gold color. Ahri's fox instincts screamed at her to flee, but she found herself riveted in place by the sudden change. Something inside her – she couldn't describe exactly what it was – reached out to the human, whose eyes had closed as the light built around them. For a moment it felt as though she could feel the human's life force leaving his body before the light consumed her, burning away the world around her. She felt her body twisting, changing, but her mind was unable to process anything but the surge of magical energy.

After what seemed like an eternity, the glow finally faded away. Ahri opened her eyes carefully, as though afraid of what she might see following the spell. To her immense surprise and pleasure, she found a pair of pink hands on the ground in front of her where her paws had formerly been. Leaning back on her haunches, Ahri realized that her whole body had changed. Her white fur had receded, replaced by soft, smooth skin, and her form now mirrored that of the humans who lay strew about the battlefield around her. For the first time in her life, Ahri's spirit rejoiced – no longer did she feel ill at ease in her own body. This was what she was meant to be.

A soft light from nearby caught Ahri's attention and as she glanced up, she found a sphere about the size of her head, made of blue light, hovering a few paces away. She lifted a hand as though to reach out to the orb, and in response it delicately glided over to her palm, settling just above it. It was only then that Ahri felt the magic bubbling within her body, and she gave a small giggle. Not only had she been given a human's form, but a human's magic as well. She had gotten lucky indeed.

A rush of movement from behind her brought a slightly pause in her revelry. Ahri glanced back quickly, afraid that someone had seen the light from the magic and had come to investigate, but all she found instead was one of her tails gently waving back and forth. A sense of disappointment settled over Ahri as she realized that her transformation was incomplete. It was close, but not enough for her. She glanced back down at the form of the human below, as though to demand that he finish the spell, but the human's body was unmoving, the rise and fall of his chest finally stilled. He had given all he could to change her – and it wasn't enough.

Ahri snarled in frustration, her fingers clenching in her palms. The orb of light sparkled in response to her anger, its smooth surface fracturing into uncontrolled waves of energy. As Ahri watched the orb roil with her emotions, she slowly remembered that she possessed the same magic that the human did. All she would need to do is steal the life essence of others in order to complete her transformation. Ahri gave a feral grin, then stood and began to walk lightly towards the waiting forest. She would finish the spell herself and finally be a true human.

A small cough echoed from behind her. "Why do you want to join the League, Ahri?" came an unfamiliar voice. As the fox-turned-human whirled around, magical sphere at the ready, she found the "dead" human rising from the ground, his eyes wide open and fixed on her. The illusion was disturbing and Ahri took several steps backwards before she remembered the Institute of War and the Judgment she was undergoing. A ball of frustration knotted itself in her gut as she realized that she'd been duped by the Summoner's illusions.

"You know why I'm here," she said, keeping her expression calm. "I told the Senior Summoner of my intentions here. I fight for you in your little games, and you help me a way to become fully human."

The human gave Ahri a mocking half-smile. "I thought you already found a way to do that," he said. "Something about absorbing the life force from the humans that you seduced?"

Ahri blushed and lowered her head in shame. "I can't keep doing that," she admitted softly. "I feel… bad, about it. Killing them, I mean. I don't why." She felt vulnerable, giving away her secrets in front of an unknown human, but she had no choice. He could see her mind and knew everything about her. "Now let me go."

The Summoner gave a wicked grin, just before the battlefield and its legion of bodies disappeared. Ahri flinched as the walls of the darkened chamber reappeared around her, this time with a door at the far end. Despite the mental stress from the Reflection, Ahri's composure was recovered within seconds. She had been admitted to the League, securing the aid of the most powerful magicians on Runterra to help her with her goal, and all she had to do was participate in their League of Legends. She licked her lips in anticipation – they had never fought someone quite like her before. No one would be able to stand in her way. With a seductive swing in her step, the Nine-Tailed Fox pressed onwards.


	11. Judgment: Rengar, the Pridestalker

I apologize for the late upload of this piece, but after much ado I can finally present Rengar's Judgment. He'd actually been requested quite some time ago, but given that Kha'Zix was the first piece I'd written I decided to hold off on Rengar's until a later date since they're so similar. For that matter though, I absolutely love the interactions between these two champions and would love to just once participate in a hunt minigame. Riot really nailed it with them.

I've got a fairly long list of champions who have Judgments requested for them, so if you wouldn't mind holding off on requests for now - or simply requesting one champ at a time - that would be appreciated.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc., not me.

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Candidate: Rengar

Date: August 21st, 22 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The being that walks into the Great Hall is unlike any that has ever been seen before by the eyes of men or yordles. The first thought that flashes through one's mind upon seeing Rengar is that a lion has somehow learned to walk on two legs and wield bone weapons. His mane hangs long and proud behind his head, neatly braided so that it will not hinder his movement. His armor is made of a combination of stone, wood, and bone, but the crude combination is clearly effective, as the number of scars across them will testify. A pair of wrist-mounted blades gleam a dull white on the lion's left hand, while his right clutches a truly massive, curved knife. Rust-colored stains on both of them attest to their frequent use.

Rengar's fangs glisten in his mouth as he turns his head, slowly absorbing all of the details of the Great Hall with his one good eye. It is not the opulence and splendor of the chamber that draws his attention – rather, he looks instead for potential hiding places, unseen enemies, and items that may be pressed into service as a weapon at a moment's notice. However, this does not hinder his movement speed at all. The hunter pressed quickly through the hall, clearly unnerved by his visibility, and when the Reflecting Chamber's doors swing open to admit him he slides into the shadows without pause.

REFLECTION:

The Summoners had spoken of a test waiting for him within the Reflecting Chamber and Rengar refused to let them surprise him. As the darkness folded itself around him, Rengar tightened his grip on his knife, his pulse pounding with the thrill of imminent battle. Whatever they chose to throw at him, he was prepared. With his visibility reduced to zero, Rengar closed his eye and opened his other senses, focusing intently on any sounds, scents, and tastes that he could detect. His father had taught him that a true hunter was never reliant on what he could see, and Rengar had taken the lesson to heart. Even if he was ambushed by twenty invisible assassins, the lion would "see" them coming from a mile away.

What happened instead was not what Rengar had expected. His eye flew open as an overwhelming amount of information assaulted his senses, only to find himself gone from the Institute of War. Trees rose thickly all about him, blanketing the sky in a canopy of green, and the leaves of the underbrush scratched his legs. Rengar knew the area instinctively, knew every branch and stone underfoot, every noise that echoed through the forest and every smell that met his nose. It was his old hunting grounds. Even stranger than the sudden transition was the fact that he was suddenly seeing out of both eyes again, as though he'd never lost one.

His arrival to the forest brought a sense of home with it, but a deep sense of disappointment as well. He could not remember the last time he'd had a decent hunt. When he first settled here, staking his territory out with the bones of his fallen prey, he thought that being the master of the forest would be enough. But with it only came restlessness, then depression, then despair. The beasts he fought, though mighty, were hardly a match for his ferocious rage and skill at tracking. It was never long before he came home with the spoils of victory and a bitter taste in his mouth. He longed for a true challenge, like the ones he'd had while his father was alive, where he would struggle for hours on end before finally bringing the creature down in a last, desperate maneuver. The search for such an experience was the only reason he got up every day, and now that it had been deprived from him, only necessity drove him from his cave. Soon, Rengar felt, not even that would suffice.

But for now, he would live on as he always had, ever seeking for a worthy opponent and a worthwhile hunt. Rengar knelt down in the underbrush, digging into the soil with one cupped hand. He brought the dirt towards his face, inhaling deeply. His nostrils filtered out the scent of the earth, searching instead for the smells of prey – the drops of sweat from a fleeing creature, the salty tang of blood droplets, or just for the simple aroma of feces that gave away an animal's hidden den. It was a good thirty seconds before he finally let the dirt fall from his hand, confusion clouding his mind.

What he had smelled was like nothing he'd ever detected before. It was a rank, acidic odor that burned his nose and left him feeling lightheaded. Something new had entered his territory. The chains of depression that had been hanging around his neck lightened suddenly, though they did not go away. A new type of prey meant a new chance for a glorious hunt. Rengar forced the hope from his heart as he stood, preparing to follow the barely perceptible trail of the creature. He'd been this excited about hunts before, only to have them fall short. It was best to acknowledge the hunt's pleasure afterwards than before.

The Pridestalker plunged through the brush, his sharp eyes tracking every bent twig and turned leaf with expert skill. Even the lightest depressions in the earth left by the creature's passage could not escape his notice, so intent was the lion. His prey was bipedal, clearly, but there was something else about the way it moved that gave Rengar pause. It was only a few minutes later that he realized it had been stalking something else. _Another predator, in my domain_, he thought with a bloodthirsty grin. It would pay for daring to tread into his realm and take his prey.

The scent of blood on the air slowed Rengar's rapid advance. The predator he'd been pursuing had made a kill, it seemed. The pungent aroma that he'd smelt in the earth was present as well, though it was thicker than before and wrinkled Rengar's nose. He stole through the thick brush around him with no more noise than the wind, following the scents towards their source. A clearing lay ahead, if he remembered correctly, and his prey had likely made the kill there. The lion dropped to all fours and crawled slowly forwards, coming to a rest in the bushes lining the edge of the clearing.

The sight he found waiting for him through the leaves of his hiding place was one he was used to seeing at the end of a successful hunt. The corpse of an animal known as a biggatusk lay in the center of the open space, its head resting a few paces away from its neck. The body of the biggatusk didn't faze Rengar at all, but he froze upon seeing what had killed it.

It appeared at first glance to be some kind of large insect, with a deep purple shell that could easily blend into the shadows of the night and giant, scything claws that dripped with the biggatusk's blood. However, there was something about it – maybe the way that it moved, maybe the shrill screech that it loosed in triumph – that gave it an unearthly appearance. Its body was unmarred by any sort of injury, which meant that it had dispatched its prey with a single blow. Rengar found himself nodding approvingly, even as his pulse quickened. He'd found a worthy opponent, at last. All that remained was to wait for the creature to become distracted for him to make his move.

At that moment, the insect bent towards the biggatusk's body, intent on feasting upon it. Rengar's hunter's instincts told him to wait until the creature had gorged itself upon the biggatusk's flesh before acting, but he could not restrain his excitement. The thrill of the hunt was upon him and Rengar leapt from the cover of the brush, a battle roar springing from his throat. The creature reacted swiftly to the incoming threat, pulling itself away from the corpse of its prey, but Rengar was already on top of it. The lion threw himself at the insect, knocking it to the ground even as his dagger found the creature's side and pierced the rigid chitin. He felt the warm spurting of the creature's blood on his hands with a vengeful satisfaction and twisted the blade. This would be over soon.

But the beast he'd pinned was far from defeated, and in his haste Rengar had neglected to seize its arm with his free hand. A flash of purple was the only warning he received of the creature's counterattack and he pulled back immediately to avoid the blow. However, weeks of neglecting his skills left him too slow and in a blinding flash of pain the insect's blade cut into the left side of his face. Rengar staggered backwards, hand over his maimed eye and howling in pain. It had been too long since he'd received such a grievous wound, and it felt as though he'd lost an eye. His insides burned with shame that he'd allowed himself to be crippled so easily, but the rage and ferocity that raged up within him consumed the pitying emotion. His dagger swept the beast's next attack aside as easily as an elephant swats flies and with another snarl he lunged back into fray. The creature would die by his hand or he would die trying. Such was the way of the hunter.

The sun was sinking in the sky by the time both combatants had exhausted themselves with chasing each other throughout the forest. Rengar had used every trick he knew and every tool he had, but the beast he fought was as skilled a hunter as he was – perhaps even more so. Though it lacked the weapons Rengar had, it was possessed of an unnatural cunning and had natural abilities that rivaled his. As they lay together in a clearing, both panting and bleeding from dozens of wounds, Rengar could only grudgingly admit the creature's strength. He – the once famed Pridestalker – had failed a hunt.

"Know this, predator," the insect spat, purple leaking from its mouth. "I shall find you again and consume you."

Rengar's pride boiled at the insult, but in his weakened state he could only respond with words. "And I promise you this, beast," he snarled with as much strength as he could muster, "your head will adorn the wall of my den one day." The creature's eyes met his and stayed there for a moment before it finally dragged itself to its feet and staggered away, trailing ichor behind it. Rengar roared after it, both in anger and frustration, before following suit.

It was then that the unexpected occurred. "Why do you want to join the League, Rengar?" the creature's oily voice hissed from over the lion's shoulder. Rengar spun to face the threat immediately, but found it a few yards away, idly sharpening its claws as it observed the lion. He frowned at the sight. This was not how the memory had gone. It was only a moment later that he remembered the Summoners at the Institute of War and their meddling magic.

"You don't fight fair, human," he snarled, pointing his dagger at the fake creature. "You could have simply asked me this question yourself, without the need for this conjuring trickery."

The purple insect simply smiled, a disturbing expression that made Rengar's hair stand on end. "I'm actually a yordle, in point of fact," it said, "but that's not why we're here. Answer the question: Why do you want to join?"

Rengar growled in frustration but he would get nowhere by fighting with the Summoner. "After my battle with the creature, I learned that there _was_ worthy prey still in the world. This lead me to travel to your Institute, where I found the greatest collection of warriors the world has ever seen. I will hunt them on the Fields to prove to all that I am the greatest hunter in the world. My trophies will be piled high in my den, and all who see them will not doubt my abilities."

The disguised Summoner gave a small chuckle. "Sounds to me like someone has a need to compensate," it leered. "How does it feel to expose your mind?"

Rengar ignored the insult, though his fur bristled. "Is it necessary?" he asked, annoyed. "I hunt better alone."

The Summoner shrugged, barely pulling off the gesture in the creature's form. "It is required, but I think you will find that we Summoners will aid your abilities, rather than detract from them."

The lion made to respond, to request that the Summoners stay out of his mind, but before he could respond he found himself back in the Institute of War, with a pair of doors resting before him. Rengar fumed internally at his treatment, but the lure of the doors beyond was enough to make him forget. The lion ran a thumb over the edge of his knife, licking his lips in anticipation. The hunts would never end from here on…


	12. Judgment: Lulu, the Fae Sorceress

This week's Judgment is for none other than Lulu, the suppordle. I had a chance to play with her last week and holy balls, she was awesome. Definitely want to pick her up once I have the IP. Until then though, all I can do is write about her :P.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Lulu

Date: March 20th 22 CLE

OBSERVATION:

While most champions have passed through the Great Hall as quickly as possible, Lulu seems to positively enjoy taking her time. The small yordle girl wanders about the chamber in an aimless manner, constantly being distracted by the statues and ornate decorations around her. She bubbles with enthusiasm, chattering constantly to herself as she sprints to and fro. Occasionally she freezes in her tracks, listening intently to the small, purple, faerie that floats by her shoulder, but whatever the creature says is unintelligible to anyone but her. A tall, peaked hat, seemingly hand-made, rests precariously atop Lulu's head and sways violently with her motion. It almost falls off once or twice as the yordle leaps in excitement, but the swift efforts of her faerie companion manage to keep it more or less in check.

Eventually, Lulu reaches the doors at the far end of the chamber. She giggles at the twin panthers carved into the door and reaches out to touch them with her staff, but falls back when the doors open to admit her. With another laugh and a spritely wave of her hand, the yordle plunges through the entrance without a trace of fear.

REFLECTION:

Lulu blinked in the sudden darkness, clutching her staff a little more tightly to herself. Where were all the Summoners? She'd been told that they were going to test her on something, but the silly mages were all hiding. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. Finding them _was_ the test! They just wanted to play hide-and-seek with her! "Pix! You're on my team, okay?" she whispered conspiratorially to the purple faerie, which she knew was hanging by her shoulder. He responded with a swift flutter of his wings – their secret sign for "okay" – and she giggled. "Ready or not, here I come!" Lulu called into the void beyond.

The world suddenly shifted around the yordle girl as she took her first step, transmuting into a brilliantly grassy field. A line of small, yordle houses stood at Lulu's back, while the distant edge of a forest loomed ahead of her, on the other side of the emerald lawn. The place was one from her memories, however long ago it had been – it was one of the outlying suburbs of Bandle City, where she'd grown up. In addition to the sudden change of place, Pix had had gone missing, as well as her magic staff.

Lulu was only able to worry about their disappearance for a moment before a familiar voice called out from the houses behind her: "Lulu!" It was her mother's voice, and as she turned around she saw the familiar purple face of the older yordle appear from around one of the houses. Lulu's mother sighed in relief upon seeing her child. "Lulu, be back by evening, alright? We've got to get you cleaned up for school tomorrow, remember?"

The little girl smiled and waved cheerily. "Okay mama, I'll be back by then!" she called, just before dashing off into the field. Her mom yelled something in response, but Lulu didn't hear. She was already lost in the world of her imagination, bouncing around in the tall grass without a care in the world.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Lulu found herself out by the edge of the forest, still burbling along about the stories and games that existed in her head. A flash of white caught her eye and as the yordle glanced towards it, she noticed a small birdhouse built under the eaves of a birch tree. There was something struggling furiously within the small dwelling and Lulu thought she caught a glimpse of purple wings. Ordinary yordles may have just dismissed the sight as being a trick of the imagination and carried on, but Lulu knew what she'd seen. "Are you alright, Mr. Faerie?" she gasped as she rushed over to the birdhouse.

The movements ceased as the little girl approached and Lulu stood on her tiptoes to see inside the white box. Just as her eye managed to see inside, something small and purple came rushing back out at her. She tumbled backwards into the grass reflexively as the thing rocketed out of the birdhouse, coming to a rest in the air over her. It was a little purple man with large, purple wings that buzzed frantically on his back, keeping him aloft. He peered down at Lulu with large, insectlike eyes, almost as if asking if she was okay. Lulu gasped in excitement. It _was_ a real faerie!

"I'm okay, Mr. Faerie!" she exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. "And I'm sorry if I startled you. I thought you were stuck in there!"

The purple being made an odd _zizzing_ sound that Lulu could only take to be laughter. Lulu crossed her arms in mock anger. "You know, it's not very polite to make people think you're in trouble," she said, attempting to use her best "mom" voice. "What if you actually _were_ in trouble?"

Another laugh met the question, followed by a queer gesture aimed at Lulu. "My name?" she asked, intuitively understanding the being's sign language. "I'm Lulu!" she said with a short curtsy. "Pleased to meet you. And you are?"

The faerie fluttered straight at Lulu's face following the question, causing the yordle to duck reflexively. As she straightened up though, she found the tiny creature fluttering just in front of her nose, shaking his head reproachfully. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "You scared me there." It didn't respond to the apology, but instead made its way towards her ear. Lulu felt tiny feet land on her shoulder and she bent her head down to give the being an easier time. It whispered a single word, then took off again, the tip of its wings just brushing the tips of her pointy ears.

"Pix huh?" Lulu said, rolling the name around her tongue. "That's a lovely name! Can you stay to play with me today?" She cheered as the faerie nodded rapidly. "Alright! This'll be great! What game do you wanna play first?"

The tiny creature made no verbal response, instead darting forwards and tapping Lulu lightly on the forehead before fluttering away again. It wiggled its fingers at her mockingly before zooming off into the forest.

"You should have told me we were gonna play tag, sillyhead!" Lulu shouted back at the faerie, a smile on her lips. "Ready or not, here I come!" She charged off into the woods in hot pursuit of the creature, giggles bubbling out of her as she pushed through the bushes.

She almost caught the little faerie as he waited for her on a branch, but just as she made to grab him Pix sprang into the air, his tinny laughter echoing in Lulu's ears. Onwards he flew, always with the yordle close enough behind to keep the chase going. For a few minutes the two beings dashed about through the forest before Lulu finally came to a panting halt. "You gotta let me catch you _sometime_, you know," she whined, sitting down on a stump.

A glimmer of light caught Lulu's eye and she glanced up towards its source. A clearing lay just up ahead between two ancient oaks, but the light from between them seemed far brighter than the daylight above. Pix was fluttering between the sentinel trees, waving for Lulu to follow him further. "You want me to go in there?" the girl asked, standing up and coming a bit closer.

Pix nodded once, then flew through the gap between the trees and vanished into the light. Lulu chuckled at the sudden disappearance. "Here I come Pix!" she shouted, then charged at the two oaks. The light got brighter and brighter and then…

"Why do you want to join the League, Lulu?"

Lulu opened her eyes, bewildered. She was back in the Institute of War, standing in the Reflecting Chamber. Pix fluttered by her side, seemingly no worse for wear, and her magical staff had reappeared in her hand as well. Before her stood a huge purple wall which seemed to have a lot of crinkles and creases in it. Lulu stared at it, confused, until it suddenly shifted and she realized that it was actually a set of voluminous robes. The yordle looked upwards to find the face of a human peering down at her gravely.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, backing up a few steps. "When did you get here?

The man ignored her question. "Why do you want to join the League?" he repeated, his voice cooling a few degrees.

Lulu hesitated a few seconds. "Well, when I got back from the Glade, my mom and all my friends weren't there anymore. People said that it had been _years_ since I went to play with Pix, but I'm sure it was only five minutes! Honest!"

The Summoner made no response, so the little girl continued. "I wanted to stay in Bandle City and look for them, but there were a lot of mean people who made me leave," she said, pouting a little. "They didn't want to play games with me, can you believe that? I just wanted to make the games a little more fun, that's all." Pix buzzed vehemently at her shoulder in support.

A frown from the man met her words. "What did you do?" he asked curiously.

Lulu glanced at Pix, who nodded vigorously. "Here, I'll show you!" she said, holding out her staff. "Transmogulate!" In a flash of purple light, the Summoner in question disappeared. In his place was a small squirrel that glanced up at Lulu with large, uncomprehending eyes. A second later though, it glanced down and squeaked in surprise, recoiling as though it was afraid of its own body.

Lulu and Pix burst out laughing at the reaction, even as the spell wore off and Summoner reappeared in front of them. The man attempted to keep a straight face, but it was clear that he hadn't expected something like that. "I will have to ask you to refrain from doing that again," he said coldly, attempting to recover some of his lost dignity. "Other Summoners than will be less forgiving than myself." He dusted his robes off lightly, as though concerned that the yordle's magic had tainted then. "I see now why you weren't welcome in Bandle City."

The girl recovered from her bout of giggling suddenly, her eyes suddenly wide with sadness. "Just because I wanted to have fun is no reason to kick me out," she said broken-heartedly. "I turned you back, didn't I? I did the same to the other kids, but they still didn't like me." She sniffled then, and Pix stroked her cheek in a comforting manner. "That's why I have to get into your League, Mr. Summoner. You guys will let _anyone_ in, no matter what." She looked up at him, her large watery eyes meeting his small black ones. "Don't you?"

The Summoner seemed untouched by her emotional plea. "Are you familiar with the purpose of the League of Legends?" he said. "We are here to settle disputes between city-states in an arena battle. Are you prepared to fight – and die – in order to gain acceptance?"

Lulu nodded fiercely. "They won't be expecting me and Pix, no sir," she said, brandishing her staff violently. "We can handle ourselves here, Mr. Summoner." Pix buzzed as well, throwing a few punches into the air with his tiny hands.

"There is just one more question I must ask you then," the man said, inclining his head. "How did it feel to expose your mind to me?"

The yordle shrugged. "It felt a little purple, if you ask me," she answered. "You Summoners are _way_ too fond of that color. You might even overdose someday, and then you'll have to come to me to fix you."

The man's brow furrowed in confusion. "Welcome to the League of Legends," he said, ignoring the girl's comments. A second later, he disappeared into the darkness, revealing the door that had been behind him the whole time. Lulu and Pix cheered happily, then raced each other towards the exit. Their new home waited.


	13. Judgment: Akali, the Fist of Shadow

I apologize for the missed update, but school and work, among other things, conspired to keep from getting any real work done on the piece until recently. At any rate though, I am pleased to present the Akali Judgment today. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up the Thursday updates going forward.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc., not me

* * *

Candidate: Akali

Date: May 11th, 20 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The female ninja slips through the Great Hall as silently as a shadow, with only the merest traces of sound coming from her footfalls. Though the two other members of the Kinkou Order have opted for darker-colored outfits, Akali wears a green uniform that is perfectly suited for blending in with the Ionian forests – and perhaps with the trees on Summoner's Rift as well. Her knees and elbows are covered in armor pads to provide defense, but the rest of the outfit is quite revealing. One could assume that this is simply to keep the ninja's natural agility from suffering, but anyone who has studied the Kinkou would realize that sexual distraction is a tried and true tactic for its members. Akali's long black hair remains in a ponytail behind her body, while her bangs spill out over her face to obscure her features. A green mask covers her mouth and forehead as well to ensure that her anonymity is secure.

The lights of the Great Hall do not faze Akali and she shows no discomfort whatsoever in her highly visible position. On the contrary, the ninja positively struts across the floor, as though daring someone to attack her. Her twin kamas are held in a loose grip by her side, but are never kept very far from a battle-ready position. The doors open as Akali approaches them and the ninja barely pauses at the sight. She slips within the shadows beyond as naturally as any of her Order would, and without a trace of hesitation. The Fist of Shadow has no need to fear the darkness.

REFLECTION:

Akali ceases moving as the doors swing shut behind her. The tension in the air is palpable, and she nervously flexes her fingers on the handle of her kamas. Even that small of a reaction to fear causes Akali to mentally rebuke herself. Her mother never would have approved of it, no matter how small the motion was.

At the thought, the old woman's voice rang through her head. "A true ninja does not move unless she wishes to," she had said more than once. "She remains at ease with the world, perfectly still, until it is time to act." It was a lesson that had taken Akali months to learn, and one for which her mother was harshest in punishing. Forgetting that training now, as she prepared to enter the League of Legends, was hardly a good omen.

As Akali's mind reflected on the past, the darkness suddenly melted away from around her. She was outside, on a narrow, winding footpath that led up through the Ionian mountains in whose shadow she'd grown up. The sun shone brightly overhead through the mass of trees that clung to the side of the rocky slopes, but the air was chill with the onset of winter. Even this early in the season, Akali could see snow beginning to accumulate on the peaks high about them, the white pinpricks visible from miles away.

"Focus," came a voice from behind her, followed by a sharp blow to her head. Akali flashed a glance over her shoulder at the impact, freezing as she recognized the owner of the punishment. Her mother's grim face glared at her, black hair tossing lightly in the wind. "A ninja does not fall prey to distractions," she said, rapping Akali across her cheek with an open palm. "She remains focused on the task at end."

Akali took the rebuke without a sound, ignoring the stinging sensation in her face. She faced forward once more, focusing instead on moving forwards up the path. After another five minutes of silent walking, a massive tiered structure loomed into view, nestled on the side of the mountain as though it had simply grown out of the stone. Most knew of its existence, and few knew its location, but all called it the Kinkou Order's headquarters. Akali had a different name for it though: home.

It had been more than two weeks since she'd seen the immense structure. The Order was about to nominate a successor for the current Fist of Shadow, and it was her mother's intention that Akali should fill the role. Since her birth she'd been brutally put through a strict regime of training to make her ready for the selection process. The last fourteen days or so had been her final preparations for today. Though her face was impassive, as befit a ninja, Akali's insides were roiling with doubt and fear. If she failed, she had no idea what her mother would do to her.

Though there was no one defending gates when they arrived, the massive wooden doors stood open expectantly. It was not a mere oversight by the Kinkou Order though – Akali had been told that a group of ninjas patrolled the forest around the stronghold at all hours of the day and opened the gates for returning members. If anyone else should attempt to gain entry to the fortress, they wouldn't even reach the gates. Akali had kept a careful eye out for the current ninjas of the watch on their way to the stronghold, but had seen nothing. Evidently, she still had much training to go through.

The thought wasn't a pleasant one, especially not as close as they were to the ceremony.

A pair of ninjas greeted them in the main courtyard just past the gate. They made no salutation except to perform the traditional Kinkou greeting, clasping their hands together and bowing at the waist. "You are expected in the Council's Chambers," one of them said, his voice flat and monotone. The words caused Akali's stomach to flutter with nervousness, but she forced the emotion down. She couldn't afford to disappoint her mother.

Akali and her mother moved past the guardian ninjas with only a curt nod of thanks. A few minutes of moving through the courtyard found them inside the stronghold itself, while a few more would see them to the double doors that marked the Council's Chambers. It was only here where Akali's mother hesitated. She turned around for the first time, sizing up her daughter with cold eyes. "Are you ready?" she asked bluntly.

Akali knew the answer to this one. "Yes, sensei," she replied immediately. She knew not what they would do to her once she entered the chamber within, and the thought made her quake internally, but she fought to show no trace of fear. She'd been training for too long to back down without an attempt.

Her mother must have heard the anxiety in her voice. "You are a ninja of the Kinkou Order, and my daughter," she said, kneeling down by Akali's side. "You were born to take my place as the Fist of Shadow." She stood, giving her daughter one last look. Akali thought she saw some other emotion lurking in her mother's eyes – was it pride? Love? – But it was gone in a second. "We will call you when you're needed," she finished, before striding off into the chamber beyond. "Do not fail me."

Akali waited. The tension that she had been keeping at bay suddenly writhed up within her, almost causing the ninja to sink to her knees. She fought the instinct, recalling an exercise she'd learned long ago. Akali breathed in deeply, focusing on nothing but the gentle flow of air into her lungs. When it felt like they were about to burst, she exhaled, still concentrating on merely the physical act of breathing. The anxiety and tension she felt didn't disappear, but they receded as she continued to breathe. An aura of calm gathered around her, one so deep that Akali forgot where she was and what she was waiting for. All she knew was that the future was irrelevant for the moment. When the Council called for her, she would do whatever they asked to the best of her abilities. Tension, fear, anxiety – they meant nothing now.

She didn't see the ninja exit the doors ahead of her until he tapped her shoulder. "Your presence is requested," he said. The butterflies in Akali's stomach attempted to rise, but she quashed them without a second's thought and followed the fellow shadow warrior into the chamber beyond. She was a Kinkou ninja. Anxiety would not best her now.

The doors closed behind Akali with a muted thump as she stepped into the center of the room. Around her, a semicircle of people sat on an elevated wooden platform, eyeing her carefully – the Council of the Kinkou. She bowed in respect to the elders, then stood in a loose ready stance. Her fate would be decided at their hands.

"You are Akali, yes?" said one of the councilmen, an older male whom she recognized as the Eye of Twilight. "You have been nominated by the current Fist of Shadow to succeed her. Do you accept her nomination?"

The response was immediate. "Yes sir," Akali replied, hoping that she sounded confident.

The old man nodded approvingly. "Tell me Akali, what is the purpose of the Fist of Shadow?" he asked.

This was a question she had known for years. "To Prune the Tree and ensure the equilibrium of Valoran."

"And what does this entail?"

"The elimination of any beings who threaten its balance."

"And have you proof that you can carry out this task?"

Akali hesitated, but another voice spoke from the corner of the room. "I have witnessed her capacity to do what must be done," her mother said from somewhere behind her. Out of sheer surprise Akali almost turned around, but she kept herself rooted in place. _A ninja does not fall prey to distractions_, she whispered in her head.

The Eye nodded again. "You have done well training her, I see," he said, though there was no trace of approval in his tone. "There is just one last thing for us to test then."

A sudden motion from above Akali caused her to glance upwards. A single, thick chain descended rapidly from the ceiling, coming up just short of the floor and dangling before her. "The chain represents the life of those who threaten balance," the old councilman said. "Show us your dedication. Sever it."

Akali's head dipped in understanding, though internally her mind raced. The links were made of a pure, dark steel, too thick for even a blade to easily cut through. The chain was unanchored to the ground as well, meaning that a blow without sufficient speed would merely move it instead of cutting through. Despite the challenge, she was not nervous – merely perturbed, as though studying a difficult problem. _A ninja does not merely attempt, _she thought as she settled into a combat position._ She does._

Her breathing slowed as she gathered her focus, tightening her gaze until the chain was all she could see. The outside sounds of the Council faded away, as did the scents of the wooden planks below her and the candles that burned throughout the chamber. Her hand moved slowly up towards the chain, gently tapping the middle of one of the links. The cold steel burned her skin, but Akali did not flinch. She would strike there, where it was weakest. Too high or too low and her hand would do nothing more than move the chain.

She slowly pulled her arm back from the dark steel, carefully judging the distance needed for such a strike. As she reached the apex of the slow swing, Akali's gut clenched. It was time. Her muscles tightened and her hand hardened and with a single sharp cry, she brought her arm forwards. There was a sound like a great wind blowing, and then a metallic clink, and finally a heavy thud on the ground below her.

Akali came back to her senses to find the Council murmuring amongst itself. The chain still hung before her, but several feet off its end had been sheared away. The fallen links rested on the ground at her feet, coiled like a dead snake. She breathed in deeply, in relief, but kept her face from smiling. A ninja did not rejoice in victory.

"You have done well, Akali," the Eye said impassively. "There is no doubt among us – you are to become the next Fist of Shadow."

There was no applause, no outward sign of approval, but Akali knew what an honor had been bestowed upon her. "Thank you," she said, bowing again. "I shall serve the Kinkou as best I can." With that, she made to leave the chamber.

Her mother's voice brought her up short. "Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?" she said.

Akali turned, facing the clone of her mother that the Summoner had created. "The Kinkou exists to preserve balance in Valoran," she answered. "I will join my fellows Shen and Kennen on the Fields of Justice to ensure peace."

"How does it feel to expose your mind?" the Summoner responded.

Akali's eyes hardened. "I shall do what is necessary," she said, keeping the anger out of her voice. An instant later she was back in the Reflecting Chamber, silently standing in the dark. After checking to ensure that her kamas were still there, the Fist of Shadow moved silently and stealthily towards the entrance to the League. The Kinkou Order's triumvirate would be completed.


	14. Judgment: Anivia, the Cryophoenix

Somehow I managed to get this one up on time. Here's my take on a Judgment for Anivia. Since she was summoned to Runeterra against her will, I figured a conventional Judgment doesn't really work, so I've done a few unconventional things here. Lemme know what you guys think. In addition, Kenocka is actually the screenname of a friend of mine and she's given me permission to use it. She also has a account - go check her out!

The next few champions on my (rather lengthy) list are all requests by Thatotherguy6, so in fairness to others I'll be spacing them out a bit. Up next will be another Void champion though - should be fun.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games, not me

* * *

Candidate: Anivia

Date: July 10th, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The summoning process was well underway by the time Summoner Kenocka arrived in the chamber. "How's it going?" she asked a nearby subordinate who stood near the door – his name escaped her at the moment.

"We've already located your selected candidate, as you requested," the man replied, pushing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses onto his nose. "I believe that they're about to start the actual summoning process now. You've arrived just in the nick of time." Kenocka grunted her approval. The grunts had worked fast. With a curt nod to the junior Summoner, she stepped further into the room.

A circle of Summoners occupied the center of the room, their violet robes flowing from the magic pouring from their hands. At the center of their arc, a single golden ring had been marked out onto the floor. Runes were etched along its length, glowing softly under the influence of the mages above. The scene was familiar to Kenocka by now – it was by no means the first extraplanar summon they'd attempted in recent times. The League of Legends was their only hope for lasting peace, and even that wouldn't work without sufficient champions. When Runeterra had proven herself to be woefully barren, the head Summoner Reginald Ashiram had lifted the sanctions on summoning creatures from distant planes in order to find more heroes.

This one was different from the previous few in that it was being attempted on Kenocka's initiative. She had been the one to scout the planes for ideal candidates, dealing with the frustratingly complex magic involved with that, until after weeks of careful spying she'd found a being that may be of use to them. There was no telling if it would accept, but Kenocka was confident. If she managed to recruit a champion, she'd almost certainly move up within the ranks of Summoners. It was worth it to at least attempt.

A sudden distortion of magic flickered through the room, bringing Kenocka out of her daze. They were nearing the end of the process. "Prepare yourselves," she called out over the crackling of arcane power to the half-dozen or so mages that stood on the edges of the room. Their duties would be simple – if the candidate was violent, they were to detain it by any means necessary. They nodded at the command, stretching their arms out towards the growing portal and readying spells of their own. "In position," one of them shouted.

Kenocka nodded in acknowledgement. "Open the portal," she commanded, this time directing her comment at the mages doing the Summoning. They did not respond with words, but the flow of the magic abruptly increased. Blue rings coalesced in the center of the chamber, spreading inwards from the golden rune circle that surrounded them. When the entire space had been covered with azure energy, a flash of light split upwards from the ground, momentarily blinding everyone present. The room's temperature dropped dramatically and over the sound of the arcane energy Kenocka could hear a sound like that of arctic winds raging.

As she opened her eyes, Kenocka immediately glanced at the summoning circle. An enormous bird, seemingly made of ice crystals, rested at its center, wings carefully folded at its sides. A thin layer of frost coated the ground under its feet and snowflakes danced through the air around it, finding themselves suddenly cut off from the storm that they'd come from. The mages at the periphery of the room stood ready to subdue the creature should it become violent, but at the moment it appeared quite peaceful. Its eyes were closed, and Kenocka got the feeling that it was simply waiting for the shock of being summoned to wear off.

A moment later, the bird's eyes snapped open, revealing deep red orbs that seemed to glow in the dim light of the chamber. It glanced curiously around at the assembled humans, taking in everything with a measured stare that spoke of an immense intelligence. Its beak clacked once in a way that made Kenocka think of a deep breath, and suddenly the creature spoke. "You have called, and I have answered," it said in a distinctly female voice. "What service do you require?"

REFLECTION:

Kenocka had little room in the summoning chamber with which to conduct her interview, so after dismissing the rest of the Summoners she and the bird – which she now knew was named Anivia – retired to an adjacent, open-air meeting hall. "I apologize for the sudden climate change," Kenocka said awkwardly as she settled down onto an abandoned chair. "We haven't the means to summon beings to Runeterra from anywhere else but the Institute."

"That's quite alright," Anivia replied calmly as she took in her new surroundings. "I have lived long enough to deal with both cold and hot – though I would prefer to live somewhere much cooler than here." Her tone of voice was light, but a trace of disappointment ran through it.

A flush ran through Kenocka's face. Being disciplined by the phoenix was embarrassing. "Once I'm done here, you'll be free to go where you please," she said hastily. "The northern region of Runeterra, Freljord, is quite cold. You should feel at home there."

The bird bobbed her head up and down. "I shall examine it then," she responded. "But tell me, Summoner: Why have you brought me here? Clearly this was not an accidental occurrence." A single red eye stared into Kenocka's, as though daring her to lie.

The Summoner cleared her throat, trying to remember the speech she'd prepared. "We have brought you here for a specific purpose, Anivia," she began. "Our world, Runeterra, has suffered much as a result of uncontrolled magical warfare. We cannot afford to continue settling differences in this way lest the whole planet tear itself asunder. At the same time though, we must find a more peaceful means with which to resolve disputes.

"To accomplish this, we Summoners have banded together to create an institution known as the League of Legends. Quarrels between the city-states are now decided based on a contest of champions on one of our preselected battlefields. This keeps us from having to resort to war. But you see, there is a slight problem with the system –"

"You need more champions, then," Anivia interrupted with a knowing gaze. "Without them, your League does not appear to fully represent the interests of all. And that is why you brought me here, isn't it?"

Kenocka was momentarily lost for words. As she struggled to find a response, the bird gave a small chuckle. "There's no need to be concerned, Summoner," she said reassuringly. "When you have lived as long as I have, there are few things that surprise you – and fewer still that you cannot see coming." She readjusted her wings, being careful to avoid knocking Kenocka off her chair. "I accept your request."

Kenocka breathed a sigh of relief. The whole thing had gone better than expected. "Thank you," she said formally. "Your help in the League will ensure peace throughout the world. There is one more thing I must do before you can be allowed to join though."

Anivia nodded. "I am prepared, Summoner," she answered smoothly. "Do what you must." With that, Kenocka whispered a few words under her breath and dove into the bird's mind.

A glacial storm raged about her, but Anivia was unconcerned. Her wings beat through the frozen sky with no trace of difficulty as she headed towards the distant peaks of mountains. Ice and snow belonged to her and they would not hinder her passage. Her keen eyes scanned the tundra below, picking out the small shapes that indicated a campsite. The humans had been caught out in the blizzard, it seemed.

Momentarily halting her journey, Anivia reached for the magic inside herself, focusing on the storm around her. The wind, which had been howling about her, suddenly died away, tapering off into nothingness. A gentle snowfall was all that was left of the storm, drifting down to the encampment below. From far below her, Anivia heard the shouts of thankfulness from the humans in their tents and smiled. The storm would begin again eventually – nature must have its way in the end – but she had given the fragile beings a chance to escape.

The distant mountaintops slowly grew in size as she made her approach, soaring up thousands of feet into the cold air. Her home was at the top of the tallest peak – a giant bird's nest made from pure ice. She settled into the bowl-shaped area gently, talons clutching at the ground, and settled onto her stomach. A bone-deep weariness pervaded her whole body, so deep that Anivia could hardly move without pain. The magic had exacerbated the sensation, but it was hardly the reason she felt this way. It had been almost one thousand years since her last rebirth and she was old now, too old to continue her role as protector of the frozen wastes.

Anivia sighed, closing her eyes. The cycle of death had come for her once more – but it would only be a short time before she lived again. She allowed her body to relax, letting the dregs of her energy seep away. Her rebirth awaited.

Kenocka pulled herself away from Anivia's mind, reeling in surprise. "You are a phoenix?" she asked incredulously.

Anivia for her part merely laughed. "You are still young and have much to learn, Summoner," she responded. "Phoenixes are formed from the elemental essences of the world in which they live. Being made of fire is hardly a requirement." Her eyes twinkled with enjoyment. "Have I passed your test then, Summoner?"

Kenocka shook herself out of her shock. "Yes, yes you have," she responded. "I merely needed to see if we could make the mental connection with your mind. Now that that has been proven, you are free to go on your way."

The cryophoenix nodded. "I shall see you on the battlefields then. For now however, I will take my leave to examine your world. Whatever injustice I find, I shall do my best to remedy." With a cry, she leapt into the air, wings spread wide. A few flaps were all it took to send Anivia soaring away from the Institute of War, heading north towards Freljord.

Kenocka watched her go, a small smile gracing her lips. It had been an arduous process, but she had successfully recruited a new champion for the League. _And now let us hope that it works as planned._


	15. Judgment: Kassadin, the Voidwalker

This week we've got the Judgment for Kassadin, also known as "that champion that I cannot beat mid." He's fun to play as though, especially thanks to that awesome ult. Kassadin interests me quite a bit due to his singular concern with preventing the Void's coming and his antagonism with Malzahar that brought them to blows outside of the Fields of Justice. His sword is also basically just a shard of the Void strapped to his wrist - how cool is that?

Next week we'll be seeing a Judgment for everyone's favorite eight-year-old mage, so stay tuned. If you could drop me a review as well, that would be much appreciated - I'm always looking to improve.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Kassadin

Date: August, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Though he professes to be human, Kassadin's appearance makes him seem anything but. His skin gleams a dull blue under the lights of the Great Hall and serves to give him an ominous, otherworldly air. The Voidwalker's face is entirely obscured by a large oxygen mask and a horned helmet that gives the viewer the impression that he is more machine than man. Dull blue-black armor plates cover his shoulders, forearms, and legs, though his chest is left noticeably bare. Attached to his right wrist is what appears to be a glowing purple blade, but its gentle shifts in color, shape, and size hint that it is far more than a simple sword. A slight aura of energy surrounds the weapon, and any attempts to approach it result in a distinct feeling of nausea, as well as a paranoid fear of being watched by some malevolent entity.

Kassadin's passage through the Great Hall is conducted swiftly and without pause, as though he has some other urgent appointment elsewhere. The doors leading to the Reflecting Chamber seem to recognize this, as they burst open immediately before his approach. The mysterious human's pace does not slow at the sudden motion and he enters the darkness as quickly as possible.

REFLECTION:

The shadows close in around Kassadin as the doors close, smothering the light of his nether blade as swiftly and effectively as a heavy blanket laid over a lantern would. He gazes curiously at his wrist, wondering how such a thing is even possible, but remains completely at ease. The Summoner's magical tricks are mere sideshow distractions, giving the illusion of power but lacking substance. Compared with what he has seen, the Institute of War's meaningless games mean nothing.

A fine wind began blowing behind Kassadin, bringing with it a small amount of sand. He blinks at the sudden sensation – the only outward sign of his surprise - and opens his eyes again to find himself standing amidst the dunes of the Shurima Desert. The sudden brightness of the sun above hurt his eyes and for a moment Kassadin could do nothing but cower before its brilliance. It was only after he'd grown accustomed to the heat and light that he realized his specialized armor and mask had blown away with the sands of time that took him here. In their place was a simple outfit made of a rough, leathery material and a simple black cloth that was tied around his mouth to protect him from the elements.

The place he had appeared would seem to be the middle of nowhere to any ordinary traveler, but Kassadin knew this place from his memory. He had crossed over the Tempest Flats just days ago and was closing in on his target: the elusive, mysterious city known as Icathia. Many people had told Kassadin that his quest was a folly, that the city didn't exist, but he had ignored them all. By pure luck, he'd found records of Icathia in an ancient text, and following the scant trail of clues that had been left behind in other volumes led him to discover its probable location. Though many would have paled at the thought of taking such a journey through the desert to see if Icathia existed, Kassadin never hesitated. He'd left his family mere days after making the discovery, taking as much food and water as he possibly could and heading out for the wilds.

Though he told himself that it was just scientific curiosity that drove him on, deep down Kassadin knew that there was something else propelling him. A fever of sorts had taken hold, one that he could not explain, but which must be answered. As he'd traveled, the sensation grew in power, forcing him onwards at faster and faster speeds. He'd passed over the Tempest Flats in mere days - a journey which should have taken him weeks – and now, as close as he was to the city's rumored whereabouts, he could scarcely even sleep. Though the internal feeling had something to do with that, there was something else lurking around Kassadin that made him terrified to surrender his mind to slumber. He felt as though some sort of spirit was watching over him, a malefic entity that waited for him in Icathia. Ominous foreboding followed him on his journey now, haunting his steps and clouding his mind.

But he was almost at the end of the journey. A single rocky ridge jutted up from the ground a mile ahead of him, shrouding whatever lay behind it in mystery. It was an unnaturally tall formation, full of jagged rocks and perilously loose stones, and as Kassadin saw it he got the impression that the earth itself was trying to stop him from reaching his destination. It made no difference to him now that he'd come so far. On the other side of that ridge, he would either prove the legends to be wrong… or right. For the first time in his quest he hesitated, as any human would do, but a moment later the feeling surged up in his chest and forced him forwards. The distance melted away in what seemed like an instant, and Kassadin found himself suddenly in the shadow of the rocky wall.

The sharp stones dug into Kassadin's palms as he began his ascent, causing trickles of red to flow down his arms, but the man never stopped climbing. Human determination drove him onwards, but something more than that jerked at him as well, dragging him up and over the final barrier. The height vanished at what seemed to be a supernatural pace, and more than once Kassadin found himself wondering if he truly had this much energy left. There was some other force at work that propelled him on, something outside of his being, and if he had the strength to fight it Kassadin certainly would. He was a prisoner in his own body though and the malevolent force pushed him upwards, towards the top of the ridge.

With a final gasp, Kassadin dragged himself over the lip of the rocky summit. Though his limbs screamed for rest, he couldn't stop himself from crawling to the other edge of the ridge to gaze out on what lay below. His breath caught in his throat. Ruins lay sprawled for what seemed like miles in the desert sand, all of them encompassed in the ring-shaped ridge that he'd just climbed. Twisted, nightmarish statues rose above the living quarters, built in the image of beings that Runeterra had never seen before. The streets twisted aimlessly through the dead city, their cobblestones cracked and pitted by years of exposure to the element, but Kassadin almost thought that some of the dents looked like footprints. Above all though, he felt a singular presence focused on him, as though a great eye was watching him intently. His vision fizzled briefly, then faded…

… He was wandering amongst the ruins, half-stumbling, with one hand held out to keep him upright. He tripped on a lost stone and fell, but the pain never came and he rose again an instant later…

…He was inside a building, staring at a tiled mural of a giant beast that could not have come from Runeterra…

…A field of bones, large enough that he could not see the other side, spilled out before him…

…He heard a voice ranting in some foreign tongue and screamed for it to stop before realizing that it was his own…

…A purple light reached out for him, tendrils of energy snaking their way gently to his arms…

The images and memories fell apart before Kassadin's eyes, leaving him suddenly and abruptly back in the Reflecting Chamber. He staggered both with the shock of the mental separation and with the force of his recollection, but remained standing – the visions of Icathia were terrifying, yes, but he had seen worse. His concern was not for himself therefore, but for whichever unfortunate Summoner has been plumbing his mind.

A small gagging noise came from off to his right and Kassadin turned towards it, blade raised. What he saw in the lightening darkness was the prone form of a purple-robed human on the floor, his shoulders shuddering occasionally with another dry heave. Kassadin could only give the woman a sad, pitying shake of his head. Even a small taste of the Void's power, tainted through it was by his mind, had been too much for her.

"What happened here?" someone snapped from behind Kassadin. The Voidwalker turned to find a pair of Summoners rushing into the room, both of them eyeing Kassadin as though he'd deliberately done something to his examiner.

"_Your friend made the mistake of probing too deeply into my mind_," he responded calmly. "_If you had informed me of the nature of your test, I may have yet been able to dissuade you_."

One of the Summoners, a heavily built male, gave him a furious glare. "Is this your purpose here in the League?" he demanded, gesturing at his fallen comrade. "To give pretense of serving Valoran's peace while breaking the minds of her defenders?"

"_I give no false purpose, Summoner_," Kassadin replied, his eyes narrowing. "_My reason for wishing to join you is as I told your organization upon my arrival: to raise awareness of the threat of the Void through my battles_. _I seek not to disable your magicians but to enlist their aid."_

"And a fat lot of good you're doing so far," the smaller of the Summoners snapped. "Get her to the infirmary," he ordered the other violet-robed mage. As the larger man left, his partner rounded on Kassadin. "If a trained Summoner of the League cannot connect with your mind without suffering, then how are we supposed to bring you to the Fields of Justice?"

"_It is not necessary to probe my memories when linking with me_," the Voidwalker answered. "_There are only a few who can bear the power of the Void on their mind as I did, and it was not without price. A simple mental connection that ignores my past will suffice._"

The man's hands tightened into fists at the lecture. "We will see," he said shortly. "You are hereby accepted into the League, but this is pending further tests. If we deem your mind to be safe enough for our Summoners, we will fully admit you. Until then, you will be prohibited from battles. Understood?" He didn't wait for an answer, but instead turned and stalked angrily away.

Kassadin watched the Summoner go with a shake of his head. The Summoners were more concerned with their petty League than they were with the true threat that lurked on the horizon. The day hadn't been a total failure, at least – he had achieved his goal and gained access to the most public organization in the world. His fists tightened in anticipation. He had much work to do.


	16. Judgment: Annie, the Dark Child

I apologize for the delay, ladies and gents. Lots of schoolwork over the last couple weeks, in addition to a sudden lack of motivation, left me unable to finish Annie's Judgment until recently. That being said, I'm currently on spring break and will hopefully be able to catch up in time to get something uploaded this Thursday.

At any rate, here's the Judgment for Annie, the Dark Child. She's currently one of my favorite AP carries and a REALLY interesting character. She has so much intelligence, yet hides it so well and I shudder to think of her power when she's older. Plus, it's immensely satisfying to Tibbers enemies to death. The next Judgment to be written will involve a certain favorite of mine - think chains...

*Disclaimer: For some reason I've always imagined Annie as an eight-year-old, but a certain commenter on this series brought up the fact that her age was never directly stated. I'm not about to argue how old she is, so I've deliberately left her age vague in the Judgment.*

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Annie Hastur

Date: February 21st, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The League has seen its fair share of imposing beings seek entry, but the little girl who walks through the Great Hall is anything but. She wears a bright purple dress with matching socks and a small backpack that hangs off her shoulders and bounces with her every step. A stuffed teddy bear with buttons for eyes hangs in her arms, its limbs flouncing as she skips along. A casual bystander would assume that this is nothing more than a typical human child if they were given no more than a quick glance; however, there is something darker that hides within her eyes and causes all who look upon her to feel a certain sense of unease. An adult intelligence surveys the world through her innocent face and the wide smile that she perpetually wears does nothing to hide her evident genius. It's clear that this is no ordinary child.

Annie skips and jumps her way across the hall with evident cheer, occasionally making a comment or two about one of the statues to her bear, which she addresses as "Tibbers". Despite her detours, she still reaches the Reflecting Chamber's doors in good time. As they swing open for her she gives a small giggle, clearly enjoying the display, and then steps within. This child, it seems, is not afraid of the dark.

REFLECTION:

The shadows swirl about Annie inside the chamber, but she merely snickers at the petty display. "Silly Summoners, are you trying to play hide-and-seek with me?" she called out into the void, her high-pitched voice slightly cross. "Me and Tibbers aren't really here to play, you know." When there was no response, Annie settled for hugging her bear closer to her chest and waiting impatiently. It wasn't polite to keep guests waiting, her mother had always said. These Summoners could use some manners.

After several moments of annoyed silence, the little girl decided that the adults had stalled long enough. She raised a hand, channeling her arcane power into a mana-infused fireball that she planned to throw out into the room, hopefully to draw attention. It was only when the room stayed dark around her that Annie realized that the flames had never appeared in the first place. Something was blocking her access to magic, and it was only then that she felt the first twinge of fear. "I don't like this, Tibbers," she whispered to her stuffed doll. "Why won't they just come out and talk?"

No sooner had the words left her lips than the black void around her melted away like paints running down a canvas. A forest materialized from the former darkness, tree trunks stretching off into the distance on all sides of Annie. The ground became hard and cold, an unusual trait for an area that rested so far south of the Great Barrier Mountains. Annie shivered suddenly with the cold – it must have been near winter. Many denizens of Runeterra in Annie's place would have been at a loss as to where they were, but she knew instantly where the Summoners had brought her: the Voodoo Lands, where she'd been born and raised.

This particular patch of forest was familiar as well – Annie recognized it as being not far from the Grey Company's encampment. She flicked a glance over her shoulder to verify her suspicions and managed to pick out the dim twinkling of the watchmen's torches burning brightly in the dimness of the glade. She giggled happily at the thought of being home again and went to hug Tibbers, but the stuffed bear had mysteriously disappeared from her arms. Annie gasped at the realization. She'd had Tibbers with her for as long as she could remember, ever since…

A shout from behind Annie disrupted her train of thought. She turned towards the sound, blinking curiously at the sight of a small group of humans coming swiftly towards her. "Oh thank heavens we found her," one of them was saying as they drew near. "Amoline would have our heads if anything had happened."

"Annie, come here!" another shouted out, beckoning urgently at the little girl. "Let's get you home, it's not safe to be out here."

The little girl frowned at the mass of people. She'd been fine being by herself out here in the swamps and certainly didn't want to go back to the boring old village. Her parents had never forced her to stay home in her life. Annie shook her head resolutely and began skipping in the opposite direction. If they wanted to take her back, they'd have to catch her first.

A few more panicked shouts came from the group of people behind her. "Someone grab her before that bear comes back," she heard one of the louder voices say. The patter of running footsteps broke out behind Annie and she flicked a glance over her shoulder to find the group in a full sprint towards her. She stuck her tongue out resolutely at the group and kept moving. At the very least she was going to make them work.

That was when she ran head-first into what appeared to be a large, furry wall.

Annie bounced backwards off the brown surface, landing heavily on her rear. The pain made her eyes water and she began to cry, but stopped upon hearing a low grumbling noise from the wall she'd hit. Her eyes traveled upwards, just in time to see the "wall" turn towards her. Huge black pupils stared down at her as a mouth full of uneven yellow teeth lolled open. A breath of warm air was blown into her face and she flinched backwards, but remained seated. Behind her, the search party had fallen dead silent. They were likely frozen in fear and indecision, but Annie didn't look backwards to see. Her attention was focused on the shadow bear that stood before her.

"Hi!" Annie said to the immense titan. "My name's Annie. What's yours?" In response, the creature reared up on its hind legs, towering above the small girl. It gave an immense roar, bellowing to the sky, before returning its gaze to the Annie. A pink tongue ran across its lips as it sized up the tiny human.

Annie meanwhile was frowning. "Don't ignore me, Mister Bear," she warned. "I asked you your name, silly." In response, the creature lifted a paw, preparing a devastating blow that would kill her in an instant. Her eyes narrowed at the sight. "I don't think I like you very much," she said.

Before either the girl or the bear had a chance to move, a sudden motion from off to Annie's right distracted them both. A pair of the search party members had circled around and flanked the bear, charging forwards with swords upraised. Their disturbance worked as intended and brought the shadow bear's attention away from Annie – however, it also guaranteed their demise.

With a roar the animal brought his paw down and slapped the first man flying into the air with blood spattering from his body. The second man managed to strike a glancing blow, but another brutal strike from the monster separated his head from his shoulders with a wet thwack. His decapitated body folded slowly, sword sliding from lifeless fingers.

Annie didn't flinch at the deaths – she'd seen worse in her short life – but the fact that they'd died saving her made her angry. "That's not very nice! You shouldn't play so rough!" Annie yelled as the bear turned back towards her. "Stop it!" Her tiny hands slammed against the ground in frustration. She reached inside herself, searching for the power her mother had taught her was there. The toddler's eyes gleamed suddenly with orange flames, just as her hands ignited with mana-infused fireballs. She reached out for the bear, thrusting her hands forward and sending snaking tendrils of fire at the creature. They wrapped around its thick, furry hide, causing it to cease moving instantly and howl in pain. Its head snapped towards the little girl, black eyes meeting her orange ones.

"Got you now, Mr. Bear," the little girl said in a sweet voice that sent shivers down the onlooker's spines before closing her fists. The fiery bindings sank into the shadow bear's skin, triggering another cry of agony from the captured animal. Its eyes closed, then opened to reveal the same orange glow that had burned in Annie's. It stood up slowly to it maximum height, waiting on the command of its new master.

The toddler stood slowly, then dusted her hands off. "That's better, now isn't it?" she said to the enslaved bear. "I'll teach you your manners, Mister Tibbers. That way we won't have to worry about you hurting people again." She snapped her fingers smartly and in a puff of flame, the bear disappeared. In its place, a small teddy bear lay. Annie picked up the doll, holding it to her chest lovingly. "We're going to get along just fine now, won't we Tibbers?" she cooed at it.

"Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Annie?" a voice said. Annie glanced upwards to find one of the members of the search party looking down at her, a strange look on his face.

"Are you a Summoner?" she asked innocently. She wagged a finger at the man's face accusingly. "You shouldn't go into people's minds without asking permission. My mommy always said that was rude."

The man made no indication that he had even heard her. "Why do you want to join the League?" he asked again.

Annie pouted. "I wanna join 'cause it sounds like fun," she responded, a little reluctant. "Me and Tibbers will get to meet lots of people. Plus, my mommy said that maybe if I do well, we'll get to come home to Noxius."

The man tilted his head in interest, but refrained from questioning further. "How does it feel to expose your mind?"

Annie shrugged. "It's not very nice, but you Summoners have to do it, huh?" she said with a theatrical sigh. "I guess me and Tibbers are okay with it."

The illusion frowned at her comment to the stuffed bear, but said nothing. The forest of the Voodoo Lands melted away an instant later, brining Annie back to the Reflecting Chamber in the Institute of War. Smiling politely, the little girl brushed the dust from her dress and skipped ahead towards the waiting door. She and Tibbers were going to have _so_ much fun.


	17. Judgment: Thresh, the Chain Warden

Somehow, I actually managed to get an upload on time. This Judgment is for my current favorite support, Thresh. Guy packs a TON of CC and displacement abilities and is a blast to play. I realize that Thresh was actually a lot farther down on my list, but I decided to take a quick break and do a piece for me this time. We'll be resuming with the regular schedule next week, picking up with a familiar, tiny master of evil...

I realize that I've left Thresh's reasoning for joining the League vague. My personal belief is that Thresh is only in the League to create a "hit list" of sorts - find out who the champions are, where they live, how they fight, etc., and then go find them and steal their souls at a later date. Clearly this isn't something he'd let the Summoners know about though - or if they DID someone wrest it from his mind, they'd likely be found without their soul later. Could make for an interesting stand-alone piece, I have to say.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games, not me.

* * *

Candidate: Thresh

Date: January 23rd, 23 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The sound of clinking chains accompanies the Chain Warden as he enters the Great Hall, echoing through the open space with an ominous tone. His face is something out of a nightmare – a grinning skull with hooked chains for hair and whose eyes burn with an otherworldly green light. The same glow illuminates the rest of his body from the inside and gleams within the large steel lantern that floats just below his left hand. A single chain trails from the top of the lamp, disappearing behind Thresh's back and reappearing in his right hand, this time ending in a wicked-looking scythe. Clawed gauntlets flex restlessly against the cold metal handle of his weapon, as though longing for the feel of warm flesh. His outfit is a dark blue uniform that wouldn't look out of place in a prison, complete with a pair of keys hanging from a ring between his legs. What they unlock is easy to see – a thick padlock dangles from his lantern and keeps it tightly shut – but getting to them would be no easy feat.

Thresh's footsteps are smooth and calculated and he looks for all the world like a jailer on his rounds. The doors that lead into the Reflecting Chamber open instantly at his approach, as though recognizing his authority, which leads to a slight widening of the undead being's grin. He steps inside the next room with confidence, idly twirling his hooked chain, and it is only when the door slams shut behind him that the sound of clinking metal is stifled.

REFLECTION:

Thresh relaxed as the darkness enfolded him and loosened his grip on his chain. He rolled his head about as though stretching an imaginary neck, completely unconcerned with what may have been lurking in the shadows. The fact that his lantern's unearthly glow cannot pierce the darkness doesn't worry him in the slightest. The Summoners' petty tricks and attempts to disconcert him were laughable at best – the fact that he was left alone in darkness demonstrated this. Thresh simply waited calmly for the mages to begin the test they'd mentioned, knowing that whatever they chose to throw at him could hardly be a threat.

The void around Thresh melted away suddenly, leaving him suddenly in a cramped, stone room with no windows and only one, barred door. Thresh would have recognized the place instantly as a cell from his old prison had he not been concerned with a different sensation – the feeling of having a corporeal body. His hands gently flexed open and close before his eyes, the sensation of tendons and muscles and bone working together a strange occurrence for one who'd been undead. The gentle cascade of his hair on the back of his neck, the comforting weight of his warden's uniform, the gentle clinking of the chains slung about his neck – Thresh experienced all of the minute details of being alive again with relish. Undeath had its benefits, but there was truly nothing as beautiful as feeling your own breath and the pulse of the blood in your skin.

Thresh stepped from the cell, one hand swinging his lantern and the other gently grasping the end of his scythe. A steady clinking accompanied his walk, the sound echoing on ahead of him down the long prison corridor. The terrified moans of the prisoners reverberated back to Thresh as they recognized the sound of the Warden on his patrol and he grinned a sadistic smile. The rush of power was something he missed most dearly about the job – the knowledge that you could both raise a man high and bring him down to the depths of utter despair. The latter though was always Thresh's forte.

And speaking of which…

Thresh stopped his walk suddenly in front of a cell, letting the sound of his booted footsteps resonate through the prison. Dead silence greeting his wordless proclamation, and in the quiet that followed Thresh almost fancied that he could hear the prayers of thanks from the prisoners who hadn't been chosen. "Prisoner Three-Hundred Ninety-Four," he said, slowly and clearly as he turned to grin through the barred door. "It's your lucky day today."

The man within stood, grim acceptance etched onto his face. Though his expression was stoic, the careful set of his jaw and the deadened look in his eyes told Thresh all that he needed to know. This was not a man who faced the unknown with bravery, but rather one who masked his abject terror with a façade of strength. _All the better to break you_, the Warden thought gleefully. His key clunked loudly in the cell's lock and the iron bars swung open. "Will you walk with me, Prisoner?" Thresh asked mockingly, giving an exaggerated gesture towards the hallway. "I believe I have a problem that you can help me with."

The inmate made no response except to shuffle forwards towards the exit of his cell. His hands and feet were bound about a foot apart with heavy chain cuffs – a warning sign for Thresh. This was not a petty thief who couldn't outfight a particularly large rat, but a serious offender. Thresh scrolled through his mental registry of the inmate, attempting to recall Prisoner Three-Hundred Ninety-Four's record. From what he could remember, the man had been arrested on charges of murder and arson, and had attempted to kill prison wardens before during cell transfers. Thresh licked his lips in anticipation. He would enjoy breaking this one.

The gray-clad prisoner finally reached the door, stepping carefully across the threshold as though he would never return. "This way," Thresh said, indicating the direction with a sweep of his lantern. "I'll be right here behind you the whole time." In his mind, he was already down the hall and in the Box, preparing a "project" for the prisoner to "help" him with and basking in the thrill of imminent agony. His guard was down for the first time since his career at the prison had begun and in that crucial moment, the prisoner acted.

A blur of motion was the only thing that Thresh saw before pain exploded along the side of his face. He stumbled, the lantern tumbling from his hand as he reached for a wall to steady himself. Even as he panted for breath he heard the sound of running footsteps and an immense shout go up from the other inmates and knew that his prey was escaping. The Warden glanced upwards in time to see the fleeing gray form of the prisoner making his way down the hall, hampered somewhat by his cuffs but making surprising progress nonetheless. The man made no move to look backwards or check to see if Thresh had recovered, but bent his whole will on breaking away from the terror that lay behind him. Hope of freedom, though slim, was before his grasp.

It was simply too joyous of an emotion for Thresh to _not _crush.

The Warden stood straight, his right hand spinning the scythe around by its chain with an ominous jangling. The other prisoners began shouting warnings at their absconding compatriot, but by the time the words had left their lips it was already too late. With a grunt of effort, Thresh hurled the steel hook outwards, towards the grey-suited man who had covered nearly half the corridor in that time. The weapon arced downwards through the air like a bat out of hell and with a wet thunk embedded itself in the prisoner's shoulder.

The agonized scream that echoed through the prison was pure rapture to Thresh's ears. He gave a single tug on the chain, pulling the man off his feet and bringing him down hard on the cold stone floor. "Writhe," Thresh commanded, his voice suddenly cold and malevolent. "Writhe for me, prisoner. Show me your pain." He jerked the chain with unearthly strength, dragging the impaled inmate a few feet across the ground and eliciting a few more anguished howls. The prisoners watched the scene silently from within their cells, every one of them. They knew all too well what would happen to their cellmate – and knew that to attempt to escape from the Warden would always end in failure.

Minutes ticked by as Thresh slowly dragged the man towards him, pulling the chain hand over hand with practiced ease. The shrieks of pain ceased, only to be replaced with the whimpering groans of a beaten man. As the prisoner's battered face slid in between Thresh's boots, the Warden smiled down at him. "Congratulations, Prisoner Three-Hundred Ninety-Four," he said, giving the hook a small tug. "You've just become my new playtoy for the next few days. Oh, the wonderful sensations you'll experience – I wish I was in your shoes. You're one lucky man, after all." A cold chuckle escaped his lips at the thought. The Box had been dying for a good workout.

The man coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You lose, Warden," he managed to gasp. "You think I'm gonna live for more'n a few hours with this hook in me?" He tugged ineffectually at the steel barb in shoulder before letting his hands slump back to the ground. "I'm gonna die before you get your hands on me."

But Thresh's grin only grew wider. "I think you'll find that you'll last long enough for my purposes," he sneered, jerking the chain a little harder this time. "You see, I have a few… methods, of keeping prisoners around long enough to serve their punishment." The tormented man at his feet gave Thresh no response, but the terrified look in his eyes was enough. A cackle of delight leapt from the Warden's throat. "Come with me, Prisoner Three-Hundred Ninety-Four", he said with mock enthusiasm, pulling the man down the corridor by the chain. "We have so much to do."

It was then that the scene deviated from how Thresh remembered it. "Why do you want to join the League?" came the prisoner's voice from behind Thresh. The Warden turned, puzzlement crowding his face, to find the man standing before him, his eyes strangely vacant.

A knowing smile slid smoothly across Thresh's face. "Ah, the Summoner deigns to speak to me at last," he said, opening his arms in welcome. "How did you find your stay in my mind? Informative, perhaps? There's much more to see, if you're so inclined."

The man's face grew dark with disgust. "You're insane," he spat.

The comment brought Thresh to laughter, his raucous cries of mirth filling the hallway. "Insane, am I?" he asked tauntingly. "I most likely am, Summoner. You would do well to not forget that in the future."

"Why do you want to join the League?"

A smirk came from the Warden. "You know my mind, don't you Summoner?" he asked innocently. "Why don't you tell me?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "You cannot keep the souls of those you kill on the Fields of Justice," he replied warily.

Thresh gave a theatrical sigh. "Of course, of course," he responded dramatically. "Can't be losing our champions now, can we? But since I'm so far along in the application process, we may as well close it out, shall we?"

An inquisitive stare met Thresh's statement, but the man's next question was not about the Warden's motives for joining. "How does it feel to expose your mind?" he said without emotion.

The jailer gave a noncommittal gesture with his chain. "It matters little to me," he responded. "But if I were you, I would keep an eye on those who summon me. You never know when they might just snap."

The laughter at his own joke followed Thresh back into the present, where he found himself once more undead. The doors to the Institute of War lay ahead, and Thresh inhaled with anticipation. His days ahead would be filled with agony, suffering, and death…


	18. Judgment: Veigar,the Tiny Master of Evil

A few days later than I'd hoped, we've got the Judgment for Veigar. I freakin' love this little dude - he's too hilarious and too powerful for me to ever have a bad game with, even if I end up losing. At his core he was meant to be a comical character, but there are certainly aspects of him that are somewhat terrifying. I tried to make both sides evident in the Judgment - let me know how I did. To follow Veigar is a much-requested Judgment for a certain Noxian champion. I don't want to give too much away, but think _knives_...

I'm also hitting school again and swiftly approaching a slew of midterms and other projects, so I may not be able to update this week at all. I apologize in advance, but hope to resume the schedule the week after.

League of Legends is the copyright of Riot Games Inc., not me.

* * *

Candidate: Veigar

Date: July 24th, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

For the most part, the word "yordle" does not inspire fear or intimidation and there are few members of the larger races that regard the pint-sized beings as a legitimate threat. The one that walks into the Great Hall though is clearly not your ordinary yordle. A deep blue, high-collared spellcaster's robe, complete with plumed, wide-brimmed hat, conceal Veigar's appearance and shroud his face, leaving only his two yellow eyes visible. A loud clanking noise follows him as he makes his way through the chamber, courtesy of a pair of iron boots that he appears to be having trouble lifting. His hands are covered by a pair of spiked metal gauntlets, though the one on his left hand is almost double the size of its mate. This may be to counterbalance the needlessly large staff that the yordle clutches in his other fist, as otherwise it's unlikely that Veigar would be able to hold it up.

The yordle's strange travel method of hopping takes him across the Great Hall in little time, but he finds himself momentarily stymied by the Reflecting Chamber's doors. A high-pitched voice screams in frustration from underneath his hat: "I command you to open, door!" As if they were listening, the twin portals glide smoothly open before the minute sorcerer, who almost falls over in shock. It takes a few moments for Veigar to recover, and a few more for him to manage to lift his staff off the ground, but finally the yordle bounds his way into the beckoning darkness of the Reflecting Chamber.

REFLECTION:

Veigar attempted to tell himself that a master of evil would not be afraid of the dark, but as the doors seal behind him he couldn't help but feel anxiety creep up on him. Something about the chamber pierced his guard and left him vulnerable to the horrors of his past. He tried to keep from dwelling on the old memories, but his mind forced him back to his days before becoming the master of evil. He remembered the exploration of the world outside Bandle City, his fascination with everything that he saw – and his eventual capture and sentencing by the Noxian government over a bad business deal.

Even as he thought of it, he was there – back in the dank prison cell. He was sitting in the corner of the stone room, limbs almost too weak to move from malnourishment and thirst. A thin trickle of light spilled in from the edge of the barred window in his cell door, giving the metal a dim glow, but other than that small spark the cell was in total darkness. Thick walls and vigilant wardens kept the prisoners from speaking to each other, for this was the solitary confinement wing of the prison and contact was strictly forbidden.

It was certainly a dreary place for any being to be held captive in, but there was one other detail that drove Veigar absolutely mad – he was all alone. He'd been alone for weeks now, ever since he and his partners had been separated by the Noxian authorities. At first he'd been given a human cellmate, which alleviated his sense of loneliness somewhat, but before even three days had passed the turnkeys made the decision to move Veigar into solitary confinement. Whether this was from a simple overlooking of a yordle's basic needs or from spite didn't matter now. He'd been on his own for what felt like months now, feeling his mind slowly fall apart. Talking aloud, attempting to whisper through the walls to his fellow prisoners, even provoking the guards into a few insults– all of them hadn't been enough to stop his descent. As it was, Veigar didn't know if he was mad or not, but it was certainly coming soon.

He whimpered alone in his corner, beating his fists frustratedly against the stone floor. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? It was his business friends who'd made the mistakes, not him – why was he being punished? And moreover, why was he being punished this severely? The Noxians knew what they were doing to him, didn't they? His heart swelled with sadness and he curled into a little ball, his legs tucked up under his chin. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

But even as he approached his lowest, a different kind of emotion surged up in Veigar's gut. It took him more than a few moments in his addled state to recognize what it was – anger. Noxus was being deliberately cruel to him, using its status as a city-state to bully those who could not oppose it. Its leaders knew well what kind of torment they were putting their prisoners through and couldn't care less – on the contrary, they probably enjoyed it. His hands tightened into fists at the thought of the humans laughing at his predicament. He would have to make them pay.

_But what about Demacia?_ a voice whispered in his head, one that he couldn't be entirely sure was his own. _They wouldn't treat you fairly either. In fact, I'm sure that they would be just as happy to let you rot in a cell, alone_.

Veigar paused. He hadn't thought of that before, but now that he had his rage grew even brighter. Demacia could hardly be better than Noxus. Those arrogant, gold-armored hypocrites proclaimed justice but did nothing to protect the weak. Destroying them would be doing Runeterra a favor.

_Piltover too. And Zaun. And your homeland, Bandle City- they're all wretched hives of villainy, using their power to bring misery to hundreds and control the lives of thousands. Their conflicts and wars are a plague upon Runeterra. Someone must end their influence._

Veigar's eyes agreed with the voice, but who could possibly make a stand against the likes of Demacia and Noxus? Anyone with enough power to seriously challenge the city-states ran the risk of being just as corrupted as those currently in charge.

_Why not yourself? _the voice whispered in his mind. _You could do it. You could find the power to destroy them all, all the stinking liars and hypocrites and willful destroyers of the world. You would be the face of the revolution, striking for justice and oppressed people everywhere._

The yordle frowned. He had no power. He barely even kept a hold on his life, much less his sanity. How could he rise to such a state?

_There are beings in this world who practice black magics more powerful than you could imagine,_ the voice said. _Their might is enough to bring the cosmos under their control. With such strength, even Noxus could not oppose you. Learn from those masters, and the world is yours._

The idea gave Veigar pause. Yes… he could learn magic. After all, the Summoners had nearly brought about the world's end with their destructive arcane wars. If he had that kind of power, there would be no stopping them. He chuckled briefly under his breath. Yes, Veigar quite liked that idea. All he needed to do was escape from the prison.

_Just wait, _the mental voice cautioned. _Your time here will come. When you break free, you will become a force to be reckoned with, the likes of which Runeterra will never see again_.

Veigar nodded vigorously. Yes, yes, he liked this plan. Soon, he would find a way out of the prison. And when he did – the world would burn. They would call him evil for his deeds, but for some reason he cared not. He would be the master of all evil if that's what it took. A wild cackle suddenly escaped from his lips. Noxus, and all those who opposed him would be crushed.

The door of the cell swung open suddenly to reveal the silhouette of a large human and Veigar cringed. He'd been too loud with his laughter and now the warden had come for discipline. He braced for the sting of the lash, but it never came. Instead, an unfamiliar voice spoke to him. "Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Veigar?" it said.

The little yordle realized just what had happened to him the moment the Summoner opened his mouth. "Your petty mind games cannot stop me for long, Summoner!" he shouted at the illusion, getting to his feet. "I will become stronger than you yet!"

A look of puzzlement greeted the proclamation. "Why do you want to join the League?" the man repeated.

Veigar huffed in annoyance. They'd take him seriously soon enough. "I will use your League to show the world of my newfound powers," he said contemptuously. "The city-states and their champions will be powerless to stop me and everyone in Runeterra will know my name. When I become strong enough, I will enlist an army and then destroy you all and everything you hold dear! Nothing will be able to stop my might and you will tremble in my presence!" He burst out in a wild fit of laughter, feeling quite proud of himself.

All he got in response to the monologue was an odd look and what he thought was a small chuckle. "And how does it feel to expose your mind?" the Summoner asked, his voice on the edge of laughter.

Veigar's anger flared up. "I _am_ evil! Stop laughing!" he commanded, but it was no use. His order merely caused the giggles to break out into full-scale laughter. Veigar would have blasted the man to bits then and there, but in his memories he had no magical staff and no powers with which to do so. Growling to himself, the yordle waited for the Summoner's mirth to cease.

"Just answer the question please," the mage finally said, still chuckling. "How does it feel to expose your mind."

"I shall deal with you petty magicians for now," Veigar snapped. "But know this – when I come to power, the first one I shall destroy will be –"

But the memory faded away suddenly, interrupting Veigar and dumping him unceremoniously back in the Reflecting Chamber. His rage burned at the slight, but Veigar had come too far with his quest to turn back now. Entrance to the League of Legends had been obtained. It was time for the Master of Evil to demonstrate his power.


	19. Judgment: Katarina, the Sinister Blade

I apologize for the immense delay on this chapter, but the amount of work I had with class and with figuring out transfer details prevented me from really being able to put time into writing over the last few weeks. I could have banged a quick judgment out if I really had wanted to keep the schedule, but given the immense popularity of Katarina I decided that it would be best to wait for a less hectic time to get it done. At any rate, I'm pleased to finally present the Judgment for Katarina, the Sinister Blade.

No guarantees, but I'll at least attempt to pull another Judgment out this week to try and get back on schedule. This next one will be for one of the manliest men in existence (but here's a hint: it's not Garen).

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games, not me.

* * *

Candidate: Katarina du Couteau

Date: September 19th, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

The Sinister Blade moves smoothly through the Great Hall, her every motion precise and swift. As though to acknowledge her macabre talents, Katarina's hair is blood-red and trails behind in a scarlet cloud. Her outfit speaks to her earlier days as an assassin – rather than encumber herself with heavy armor, Katarina has opted for an ensemble of black leather that gleams dully in the light. A series of knives decorates her like lethal ornaments on a Snowdown tree, clinging to her belt and thighs within easy reach, but the Sinister Blade wears a pair of short swords as well, with one strapped over her shoulder and the other on her hip. Two truly massive daggers rest in her hand, each one inscribed with magical runes and polished to a high sheen. Though Katarina is an assassin by her own admission, her vast armament seems to be more suited to the fields of open war than the covert operations of night.

A slight smirk twists the Noxian's lips upwards as she reads the inscription above the Reflecting Chamber's doors. She moves to shove the gates open, almost as if in contempt of the words, only to have them spring open at her first touch. The merest trace of surprise flickers across her face before Katarina slides through the entrance, her deep red hair trailing in her wake.

REFLECTION:

The smirk persists on Katarina's face as the shadows wrap around her. If the Summoners thought that darkness would spook her, they were sadly mistaken. The tips of her knives began moving in small circles as the assassin waited impatiently for the test to begin. Whatever they planned on doing, Katarina was sure she'd be ready.

"We move on your signal, Commander," a voice said softly in her ear. The assassin whirled about immediately, bringing a curved knife towards the speaker's gut, but she froze in mid-strike. Standing behind her was a man she knew to be dead – Lieutenant Halden Kierce of Wrath Company. He gave a wordless nod at Katarina's glance, his brown eyes staring into hers even past his scarred face. "We're at your command, Sinister Blade. Send us to battle."

It was only then that Katarina realized that the Reflecting Chamber had vanished. She now stood atop a narrow ridge which overlooked a grassy field that extended off towards the horizon. Off to her right, the assassin caught sight of a plume of smoke drifting lazily upwards. Her eyes narrowed as she followed the black streak back towards its source. A cluster of white tents had been pitched about a mile off from the ridge, each one flying a familiar blue-gold flag that caused Katarina's blood to boil. _Demacians, _she thought venomously.

She remembered suddenly where she was and why she was here – this was years ago, back during the Rune Wars between Noxus and Demacia. She'd been unexpectedly given command of Wrath Company a few days back and had marched from Noxus immediately. The High Command's orders had been very simple: recover the remains of Sion, who had been executed by Demacian soldiers, and return them to Noxus. Katarina didn't know what they planned to do with the pile of bones, but it wasn't her place to question them. If it involved killing Demacians, she could accept a certain amount of ignorance.

Still, Katarina wasn't so fixed on bloodshed that she was above strategizing. The Demacian coterie who had captured Sion in the first place was none other than the Dauntless Vanguard, the elite of Demacia's military. She had never met them on the field of battle before, but knew them by their reputation throughout Noxus as deadly foes who gave no quarter. Their leader was a man named Garen Crownguard, usually known by his title of "the Might of Demacia". Katarina hoped she would have a chance to meet him in the coming skirmish – it would be a pleasure to slay one of Demacia's finest – but securing the objective was her first priority. "We move now," she ordered the lieutenant. The Vanguard appeared to have only just recently set up their camp and had lost their readiness for battle. It was a perfect opportunity to strike.

Kierce's response was instant. "Wrath, forward!" he called, waving his arm. The armored figures behind him sprang up at his command, drawing their blades and surging around him down the ridge in a red-black tide of metal. Katarina and Kierce joined in the mad rush, moving along at the forefront of the company with weapons in hand and sights fixed on the Demacian encampment beyond. _Retrieve Sion's remains_, she reminded herself. _That's all that matters_.

The Noxian forces had covered more than half of the ground between them and the Demacian tents before their foes responded to the attack. A line of soldiers armored in blue and gold rushed to form a defensive line as Wrath closed the distance, but they had barely managed to create an effective fighting formation before the battle was joined. With a clash of steel and cries of "Noxus!" springing from their throats, Kierce and his company collided with the Demacian defenders. Even as the Noxian soldiers cut into their enemies, Katarina and a smaller detachment of warriors forced their way through the battle and deeper into the camp. A Demacian soldier caught sight of the Sinister Blade and made to engage her, but the assassin merely hurled a throwing knife in his direction and moved on. Recovering Sion's remains came first, though she was loth to pass up a chance to battle Demacia's finest.

As the small band of Noxians pushed through the campgrounds, a pair of Demacian warriors came stumbled from their tents just in front of Katarina, clearly finding out too late about the assault. Katarina's response was instant and instinctual, requiring no conscious thought whatsoever. She leapt into the air, using her unique brand of magic to shunpo instantly to the first target. Her knife found the man's throat and a second later he slid to the ground in a spray of blood. Spinning quickly to her next target, Katarina plunged a blade into his chest and gave a sharp twist before leaping away again. She landed at the head of her small band just as the second man's legs gave way. "Spread out and find the remains," she ordered sharply. "The distraction won't last forever. Send up a flare once you've secured it and we'll make our retreat." She only had a small portion of Wrath Company given to her for this assignment and even at full strength she wasn't sure if they'd be able to defeat the Vanguard.

Her men gave grunts of acknowledgement and raced off, their blades drawn and heads on a swivel. Katarina for her part made for the larger command tent that she'd seen earlier on her observation of the camp – the Vanguard's commander had likely kept Sion's remains close. She slid through the camp quietly and efficiently, completely at ease with herself even as the sounds of battle raged outside. The few Demacian soldiers who stumbled across her proved to be nothing more than swift distractions – she could spare no time to enjoy the kills as she normally would. From the sound of it, Kierce's attack was stalling and she hadn't even located the remains yet. Tension attempted to rise in her gut, but the assassin quashed the emotion coldly. She would not fail.

As she approached her objective the noises of the battle grew louder and Katarina realized that the Noxian offensive had been more successful than she expected. A small contingent of red-and-black soldiers led by Kierce had battered their way to a spot just outside the command tent and were currently engaged in a skirmish with spirited Demacian defenders. Though their strength had brought them this far, the Noxian soldiers were able to make no more ground against their foes and found themselves trapped between the forces ahead of them and those behind. Katarina hesitated for the first time since entering the camp. Her mission did not involve saving Kierce and his men, but at the same time she felt a certain degree of shame in letting such strong warriors die.

As it turned out though, the emotion saved her life – even as she paused, her ears picked up the sound of pounding footsteps behind her. She didn't turn to face her adversary, knowing that it would be too late to react by then, and instead leapt upwards, vaulting over her charging foe and into the melee beyond. She landed catlike on the balls of her feet, preparing to jam a dagger in the soldier's back, but somehow the man had already pivoted to face her, as if he had expected the maneuver. His sword came whistling down towards Katarina's head with tremendous force and the assassin was forced to shunpo away to a nearby Noxian warrior.

As she regained her bearings, Katarina recognized the warrior she'd been facing. Garen, the famous Might of Demacia, gave the assassin a bloody grin from across the battlefield. "Come forth, vile scourge!" he called to her, gesturing with his sword. "Let's make this a worthy battle." But the knight didn't wait for Katarina to make the first move and instead rushed headlong towards her, golden sparks dancing around his feet and a battle cry flying from his throat.

Katarina smirked contemptuously even as she flipped away from Garen's first strike. What chance did a common soldier, even one as decorated as the Might of Demacia, have against her? Her hand found the hilt of a bouncing blade and she hurled the weapon at her foe, aiming for his unprotected face. Instead of meeting flesh, the knife instead ricocheted off of Garen's armor and bounded into the chaos of battle beyond. Even still, the thrown dagger was merely meant to be a distraction – by the time the knight could turn around to face her again, it would be too late to stop her blade from sliding between his armor plates.

But even as Katarina landed behind Garen and lunged forwards, the golden-armored warrior unleashed a mighty cry of "DEMACIAAA!" A sudden whirlwind of blades sprang up in front of her face and the Noxian's bloodthirsty charge became a sudden stumble as she attempted to keep from running headlong into the spinning Demacian. As Garen whirled towards her like an immense, shining tornado, Katarina shunpoed away to an ally, seeking to create some distance. To her immense surprise, the Demacian didn't even seem fazed by the maneuver. Like a force of nature, Garen spun after his quarry, slicing through Noxian after Noxian on his way towards the assassin and forcing Katarina to keep moving just to stay one step ahead.

Finally, the warriors ceased his gyrations, coming out of the spin with practiced ease. "Afraid to face me, Noxian scum?" he taunted even as he came at Katarina with a devastating cut. "Show some pride, and perhaps you may find honor in death."

Katarina's blood boiled even as she deflected the strike. How dare he speak to her as if he knew anything of honor? Katarina's blades twirled about her body, forcing Garen to back away, and before he had time to reengage the Noxian went into a spin of her own. Blades flew from her body in all directions, impaling Demacian warriors and bringing them down with multiple knives protruding from their bodies. All around her enemy soldiers fell, but Katarina saw none of it. Her focus was absolute – the Death Lotus required nothing less.

As the maneuver ended Katarina immediately found Garen again, readying herself to continue the fight. The Demacian had summoned a shield about himself, but that did nothing more than blunt the force of the attack. A long, red scratched marked the side of his throat where a knife had just barely missed and another protruded from his shoulder, but the knight still seemed no worse for wear. "Well met, Noxian," he called, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Let's make this a battle for the ages then." And with another battle cry, he charged back in.

Katarina had no idea how long they fought, but it felt like ages. She had no room to drop her focus or take a moment to catch her breath, as the Demacian gave her no room to disengage or gain too much distance. Though she bounded about the battlefield endlessly, peppering Garen with strikes from all sides, the knight seemingly could not be stopped. His speed somehow rivaled her own and his strength was overwhelming, forcing Katarina to avoid fighting him directly. Even as she attempted to wear down Garen with a prolonged battle, the knight's sheer perseverance proved to be inexhaustible - however, the Demacian was faring no better against her than she was against him. Despite his best efforts, the golden knight was never able to catch ahold of Katarina and slay her in a single blow as he planned, her agility proving to be too much for his comparatively lumbering pace. The pair of warriors fought endlessly, soldiers from both sides pausing to watch them even in mid-battle. It seemed as though they would fight on forever, locked in their deadly dance until the day Runeterra ended.

But at last, Katarina caught sight of the red glow of a flare in the sky and knew it was time to withdraw. Without a word, she shunpoed away from Garen to a friendly soldier. "Back!" she called to her allies. "Back away!" Only a few of the Noxians heard her at first, but as they began the retreat the others noticed and fell back from their Demacian counterparts. The mission was accomplished.

She flashed a look back at the Might of Demacia, but the knight seemed content to let her go. His eyes locked with hers and he lifted his sword into the air – a salute for a well-fought battle. A thrill ran down Katarina's spine. Though she'd survived their first encounter, the assassin knew that it was far from over between the two of them. The thought gave her immense satisfaction – there was at last another warrior in the world whom she could consider as an equal. On the spur of the moment, Katarina flicked a single dagger point-down into the dirt at her feet before continuing her flight. Though it likely wouldn't be discovered for hours after the battle, Garen would know what it meant when he found it.

Most of Wrath had reformed outside of the Demacian camp by the time Katarina rejoined them. Kierce was already leading the way back to the west, pushing the soldiers to move as fast as they could towards friendly lines. The Dauntless Vanguard would be in hot pursuit as soon as they recovered from the surprise raid, along with other Demacian detachments in the area, and Katarina wished to be far from here before that happened. "We have the body," Kierce said tersely to her as she stepped up on his flank. "Casualties were acceptable, but we're in no shape to tangle with the Vanguard again." He paused, as though debating the wisdom of what he was thinking. "I just hope the High Command has a damn good reason for sending us out here," he finished.

Katarina was galled by Kierce's lack of faith in their commanders. Had he learned nothing from serving in Noxus's military? She opened her mouth to reprimand the officer, but she was interrupted by a question. "Why do you want to join the League, Katarina?" Kierce said suddenly, his voice flat and emotionless.

The Sinister Blade's eyes narrowed at the comment. The meddling Summoners had somehow managed to pierce her guard and enter her mind. "It shouldn't be hard for you to figure out," she responded coldly. "I am here to serve Noxus on the Fields of Justice, to kill her allies and secure her victories. I am here to kill Demacians and to show my dedication to my city. It should not have required a mental probe to determine that, Summoner."

Kierce shrugged – or at least, the illusion of him shrugged. "There is more than one reason for us to do this, you know," he said. "But we can discuss that later. How does it feel for you to have your mind completely exposed?"

A noncommittal twist of her head was all Katarina was willing to give the Summoner. "I will bear any burden for Noxus," she said evenly.

The illusion gave Katarina a knowing smile before finally disappearing. The Reflecting Chamber rematerialized around the Sinister Blade, this time with a door at its far end. Without a trace of fear, the assassin moved forwards. Her service to Noxus would continue on the Fields of Justice.


	20. Judgment: Pantheon, the Artisan of War

To finally answer the question you've all been waiting for: Pantheon is the manliest man of the League. Don't believe me? Go look at the splash art of his Ruthless skin. Go ahead, I'll wait. Plus, his ultimate is one of the manliest in the game. He doesn't need to use magic to get around like Shen or Twisted Fate - he just _jumps_ from place to place with his energy legs. Can't get better than that.

The next candidate that's been requested seems like they'll be relatively easy to write for, but given my atrocious ability to get things done on time, I'm not making any promises. All I'll say is that it'll be done soon (TM). Does that sound _ok?_

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc.

* * *

Candidate: Pantheon

Date: February 2nd, 20 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Pantheon's entry to the Great Hall is accompanied by immense interest from Summoners, as he is one of the first of his kind to be seen outside of the fields of war. His body is lean and muscular, clearly accustomed to the rigorous life of a soldier, and covered in battle scars that speak to his successes. His armor is simple compared to that of a Demacian or Noxian soldier, featuring only a bronze-colored breastplate and a short mail skirt, but only a fool would assume that the Rakkor would be easy prey. In his right hand Pantheon grips the haft of a heavy spear; in his left, a truly massive shield whose hide is littered with scratches and a few rust-colored stains that are more reminiscent of blood than of oxidized metal. His face is concealed by a red-plumed helmet that leaves only his eyes visible, giving Pantheon the appearance of being an expressionless warrior bent solely on victory. A heavy traveling cloak clings to the Rakkor's shoulders, held up by a small pin that features the symbol of Pantheon's tribe.

The warrior's long strides eat up the ground between the entrance to the hall and the Reflecting Chamber's doors in little time. He nods approvingly at the inscription above the doorway: _The truest opponent lies within_. When the doors swing open to admit him, the Rakkor enters without a moment's hesitation.

REFLECTION:

Pantheon had heard rumors about the events that happened in the Reflecting Chamber – that the Summoners opened the candidate's minds and played with their thoughts, that they put the candidates through immense physical agony to test their resolve – but even the threat of imminent pain did nothing to faze him. Rather, the Rakkor relished the thought of a challenge. Let the Summoners do what they will, he thought eagerly as he stared into the darkness. If the pitiful warriors already in the League had managed to pass the same test, this would be a simple distraction.

And then he was there, back on the slopes of Mount Targon. He shivered in the cold wind as snowflakes drifted down around him and froze his bare skin, for his armor had mysteriously disappeared. Pantheon was once again sixteen years old. He knew this memory – it was the day he partook in the Rite of Kor.

All around him the members of the tribe watched, screaming and cheering and beating their weapons on their shields. He stood alone at one end of the fighting pit, his feet already slick with the blood of the other participants in the trial. Across from him was a friend he'd known since he began his training, a boy named Haril. Pantheon's gut tightened at the sight. Haril was one of the strongest warriors of their year, and a fitting opponent for Pantheon. They had trained together long and hard, both of them expecting to become a warrior and lead their tribe to glorious victories in battle. They had been friends, once, but none of that mattered now. Triumph in combat was what Pantheon sought, and the right to bear the relic-weapons of his ancestors. If it required that he kill Haril for that right, it was a price he was willing to pay.

Pantheon was handed a heavy spear and a large round shield to shelter behind. He accepted the weapons without a word, reassured by their comforting weight. The spear had always been his weapon of choice in training. His opponent meanwhile was given an iron sword and a shield of his own. Pantheon's eyes narrowed at the choices – Haril was immensely skilled with a blade and had bested Pantheon before with one. Clearly, the elders wished to make it a battle to remember. Their eyes met for a split second and Pantheon saw nothing but focused resolve from Haril. They both understood the same thing: there would be no quarter given, nor any accepted, from either side.

The leader gave a cry to signal the start of the battle and both teens leapt for one another. Pantheon's shield caught Haril's first strike and he made to impale the boy on the end of his spear, but his opponent slipped away before the blow could land. Haril's shield came whistling down on the haft of Pantheon's weapon even as he retreated in an attempt to knock it from his hand, but Pantheon merely grunted and tightened his grip. To lose his weapon would be the same as losing his life.

While his common sense told him to keep his opponent at a range with his spear, Pantheon's instincts said something else – to press the advantage and hammer his opponent into submission. He made the decision in a split second and rushed after his foe, jabbing out repeatedly with the spear. Haril caught the attacks on his own shield, but was driven slowly backwards through the muddy, bloodstained pit. Frustration – and a small amount of fear – crept into the boy's eyes, but Pantheon would not show mercy. There was only one way out of this for him, and that was to kill. He came relentlessly at his foe, eyes watching for any sign of weakness or vulnerability.

And at last, he saw his opportunity. Haril's foot slipped on something and he glanced down, an instinctive reaction to see what he'd stepped on. Pantheon pounced immediately, plunging forwards with his spear towards the boy's suddenly exposed left side. He had never missed a strike like this before and in that moment, Pantheon thought he saw victory.

But then suddenly Haril's sword came whistling down towards Pantheon's outstretched spear, colliding with its wooden haft with a jarring thud. The spear went askew, narrowly missing its target and Pantheon realized his sudden, overextended position. He was aware of two things: that he had been baited to make an attack just like this, and that there was only one way out of it for him. Pantheon's fingers released from around his weapon and he pulled back, just in time to avoid getting his face smashed by Haril's shield. He stumbled a few paces backwards, his own shield at the ready. It was a masterful stroke by his opponent, and Pantheon found his respect for Haril rising even as the boy moved in for the kill. At that moment, he almost didn't care if he lived or died.

Almost.

With a murderous cry, Pantheon rushed towards his foe with nothing but his shield out in front of him. Haril's face contorted into a confused expression, but the other Rakkor did not falter. He swept low with his blade, attempting to hamstring Pantheon, but Pantheon had expected the maneuver. His legs bunched underneath his body and he leapt up over the blow, shield held out in front of his face as he careened towards Haril. Their shields collided with a loud thunk and the two boys went sprawling through the mud.

Though the shock had sent pain shooting up through Pantheon's shield arm, the Rakkor was back on his feet as fast as possible. Haril was right behind him, bringing his sword up to strike at Pantheon's unprotected back, but Pantheon made a quick pivot and deflected the attack with a single swipe of his shield. Haril's sword buried itself in the mud and as the boy tried to recover from it, Pantheon reached out and kicked his opponent square in the face. A sharp cry of pain echoed upwards and the boy fell backwards, but only for an instant. He rose again a second later, this time with murder in his eyes and blood streaming from his nose.

But the distraction had done what Pantheon needed it to do. Even as Haril had fallen away from the blow, Pantheon had rushed back across the pit and found his spear. He turned, the weapon in hand, to find Haril barreling towards him. His warrior instincts whispered in his ear once more and instead of bringing his shield up to weather the assault, Pantheon raised the spear above his shoulder and threw it with all his might.

Haril was less than ten feet away when the weapon left Pantheon's hand. His shield came up automatically as the shaft rocketed towards him, but the iron head of the spear bit through the wood and Pantheon heard the wet splatter as it shoved its way through Haril's forearm. To his opponent's credit, Haril did not scream, but he gave a grunt and stumbled from the blow, all thought of Pantheon suddenly gone due to his injury.

Pantheon took immediate advantage of the situation and pressed forwards, sliding his shield off of his arm. He dodged under Haril's first wild swing and caught the boy's sword hand by the wrist, just before striking upwards at his elbow. The limb broke from the blow and Haril's fingers opened, letting the sword fall into Pantheon's grasp. Even as his opponent sank to the ground, pain and fear clouding his eyes, Pantheon knelt atop him and stabbed downwards towards Haril's chest. Blood spurted outwards from the wound, splattering wetly on Pantheon's bare chest and face as he jabbed the blade repeatedly into the dying boy's body.

He had no memory of how he sat there astride his defeated opponent, but when Pantheon finally came to his sense the pit had fallen silent. The sword tumbled from his grasp and he stood, his gaze going instantly to the Kor leader, Jagen. The man's expression was blank, but a moment after Pantheon found his gaze he nodded approvingly. "The winner is Pantheon," he announced.

There were no cheers – death was not something the Rakkor rejoiced in – but there were approving nods from some of the elders. Pantheon gave a bow to Jagen. He had done it. He was now a full member of the tribe, and would become the warrior he'd always dreamed of being. He made his way towards Jagen, to stand by the other victors, but even as he started forwards Jagen spoke again. "Not a trace of pity for the one you killed?" he said in a flat, expressionless voice. "You were friends, yes? Did his life not matter to you?"

Pantheon frowned. What was this? The memory had not gone this way. "He was a Rakkor, like me," he answered. "He knew the stakes of the battle and had trained just like myself for this day. He fought as well as any of the others - his defeat was not something to be pitied. If our positions had been reversed, he would not have a trace of regret about taking my life."

Jagen shook his head. "You Rakkor are truly a brutal lot. Murdering each other as a rite of passage? I thought such barbaric practices were gone from the world."

Anger flared in Pantheon's gut. "What you call barbarism is central to our way of life, Summoner," he responded hotly. "Were we to let everyone live past their sixteenth year, our lands could not sustain us all."

The Kor leader shook his head, but did not press the issue further. "Why do you wish to join the League, Pantheon?"

"You spellcasters will never understand the joy of combat, Summoner," came his reply. "You will never know the thrill of crushing your foes by your own hand, nor will you ever respect the art that is war. We fight because that is why we live.

"You created this League of yours with the intent of having the world's _strongest_ warriors battling each other for supremacy, yet you did not invite the Rakkor. This was a grave insult. I come to you as the paragon of my people, to serve as a reminder of our strength. All of Valoran will recognize the skill of our warriors on the fields of battle by the time I am done here."

The illusion frowned, but made no response to Pantheon's speech. "How does it feel to expose your mind?"

"I will manage it as I must," the warrior said. The memory faded from view as the words left his mouth, blackness slowly swallowing the pit, the other Rakkor, and Mount Targon itself. Once more, Pantheon stood within the Reflecting Chamber, facing the exit. He hefted his spear once more and headed onwards, towards the Fields of Justice that lay ahead. His life had led up to this moment – now it was time to show the world what the Rakkor could do.


	21. Judgment: Rammus, the Armordillo

I can't say that I've ever played Rammus, but after seeing how much fun my brother has from playing him I regard him with a lot of love. He's just a really funny, odd-looking character in the League and one of the most iconic champions. I'm glad somebody requested this guy.

Up next we'll be hearing from one Freljordian berserker, which will hopefully not take long to write. I have a decent idea of where to take it, but we'll see if I can manage to get back on schedule since the semester's almost out. After that, I'll likely be taking a quick break from requests to do a "me" piece for one of my current favorites.

League of Legends is the property of Riot Games Inc., not me.

* * *

Candidate: Rammus

Date: July 10th, 19 CLE

OBSERVATION:

Rammus is certainly an interesting specimen, and one that is truly unique amongst the varied life forms of Runeterra. The vast majority of his body is protected by a massive spiked shell whose scales are a gleaming tan in coloration, though they appear to have an iridescent quality as well. His teal-colored limbs protrude outwards from arm- and leg-holes that have been hewn in the carapace, allowing him to both waddle across the ground in a surprisingly quick fashion and exposing his clawed hands for combat. Though the shell would at first glance appear to be a part of his natural biology, one can tell that it is not upon a closer inspection. Whether or not Rammus ever removes it though is an entirely different question, and not one that any observer would be able to figure out through simple observation. The creature's face is almost completely flat, with an almost imperceptible bump that marks his nose and a thin slash for a mouth that betrays none of his emotions. His eyes are large and golden in color, and they take in the ornamentation of the Great Hall as he progresses through the chamber.

Rammus seems momentarily confused by the doors at the end of the chamber. When he walks up and puts out a claw to touch them however, they swing open automatically. It is impossible to tell if the Armordillo is amused or scared by this development, but he pushes forward into the Reflecting Chamber regardless, his talons clacking loudly on the tiled floor.

REFLECTION:

Darkness was not something Rammus was particularly afraid of, but he crouched slightly as he headed further into the room: an instinctual tactic from his armadillo days. He had no idea what the humans were about to do to him – but in all honesty, he didn't know much about humans in general. They were just as likely to eat him as they were to admit him to this "League of Legends" thing, and although they'd promised him that they wouldn't, Rammus didn't take anything for granted. The second he noticed anything out of the ordinary, he would be tucked up in his shell and making for the door at his back.

The sudden flash of light and color that consumed his world sent a momentary tremor of fear through Rammus's body. He curled into a defensive ball immediately, tucking his arms and legs by the sides of his shell while sheltering his head down by his belly. The bristling of the spines on his back would help deter whatever was coming for him – but suddenly, Rammus didn't feel quite so big anymore. Nor was it quiet in the chamber any longer. Instead, he heard the sounds of unfamiliar creatures calling to each other, the rustling of leaves, and the gurgle of flowing water.

He uncurled himself a little bit, peeking through the plates of his armor, to find a strange sight: he was no longer in the Institute of War. Instead, the tangle of the Plague Jungles greeted him, with plants stretching their limbs out around him on all sides. Rammus was amazed. How had he gotten here? He uncurled himself fully and stood up, only to find that he could no longer walk on two legs. No longer was he Rammus, the Armordillo – instead, he was the nameless armadillo who had wandered too far from his normal home in the Shurima desert, the way he'd been once before.

The armadillo that had been known as Rammus gave a scared look around itself, taking in the unfamiliar flora that sprung endlessly from the ground about it. The plants were large enough that it could shelter safely underneath, but their strange appearance made the armadillo mistrust their welcoming shade. Instead, it compromised and moved halfway under their beckoning leaves, close enough that it was partially concealed and yet far enough away that it could always escape should they prove to hide other dangerous.

Thus prepared, the creature set out, moving deeper into the jungle. It could not explain why it had journeyed so far away from its usual home in the desert, nor could it articulate the compulsion that drew it onward. It was an irresistible feeling, something akin to the need for food, water, and sleep that all beings shared, and the armadillo obeyed the compulsion without a second thought. Though the jungle terrified it, it forged ahead to an unknown destination, knowing that something it _needed_ could be found there.

After hours of crawling stealthily through the tangled underbrush and rot-covered trunks of old trees, the armadillo paused. Something had changed. Instead of the usual dark-green panorama of the jungle, it found a brilliant green wall ahead of it that extended far off to its left and right. It blinked and looked upwards at the evergreen hedge that rose suddenly and inexplicably in the middle of the jungle. It was an odd sight, but the armadillo had no idea how strange it really was. What it did know was that the compulsion was drawing it towards something on the other side, and that it needed to find a way through.

A few minutes of following the wall led the armadillo to a small gap that it could squeeze through. On the other side, it found a whole series of hedges, each one joining with the others at precise ninety-degree angles – a veritable maze of brilliantly green walls. A human being would have been stymied by the impromptu labyrinth, but the nameless armadillo was unfazed. The call it felt was still there, and it drew the mammal through the maze as easily as a seamstress threaded a needle. Though numerous passages opened before it, though the maze grew thicker and more complex with each turn, the armadillo's course was clear. It was bound for the heart of the maze.

And at last, with exhaustion finally seeping in, the small creature found itself approaching the final turn. It dragged its armored body forwards with the dregs of its energy, its tongue gasping for air. As it emerged from around the corner though, its dim senses picked up on a brilliantly glowing aura ahead of it. The light was too intense for the armadillo and hurt its poor eyes, but was somehow comforting as well. It was more than just light – it had a presence about it, a certain sense of being that was similar to the compulsion that had driven the armadillo here. At the sight of it, all weariness fell from the creature's body and it hurried forwards towards the warm glow. The light grew brighter and brighter still, even though the animal closed its eyes, and it suddenly felt a strange sensation in its gut…

The armadillo's eyes opened suddenly, staring upwards into the jungle above. No longer did the hedge walls hem it in – instead, the animal knew somehow that it was free. It rolled to its feet, fearful of spending too much time lying on its back, only to find that its arms no longer reached the ground. Instead, they dangled just above the ground, their newly elongated claws chewing small furrows in the dirt. Its limbs were a brilliant shade of blue now and they disturbed the former armadillo, for how was it supposed to blend in with the desert sands now? But worse than that, the armadillo realized suddenly that it had a host of strange feelings in its body – a hint of anger, a pinch of fear, a trace of sadness, and a whole lot of confusion. The host of sensations threatened to overwhelm it and it reacted in the only way it knew how – it trembled in fear, its little hands held up to its head.

But the trembling was not confined to the creature. Instead, the ground under its feet began to quake as well, sending ripples of tectonic energy through the planet's crust. Trees swayed violently overhead, sending a few of their branches crashing down through the canopy and wreaking havoc below. The voices of the jungle animals had fallen silent as they fled from the strange disturbance, seeking a refuge from the ongoing tremors. The transformed armadillo gazed about itself in wonder as the earthquake continued. It would never have managed to figure it out before, but now it recognized the situation – the tremors came from _him_.

And just as soon as it realized this, the earthquake ceased. He nodded slowly, coming to grips with his newfound body and powers. These abilities were strong indeed – enough to secure him a life beyond simple survival – but he had lost much in the process. Foremost among his concerns was the fact that as far as he knew, he was the only member of his species on the planet. The loneliness that the thought made him feel brought Rammus close to trembling again, but he stilled the emotion. Perhaps the magic that had changed him wasn't the only one in the world. Maybe it had made other armadillos into creatures just like him – or maybe it would again, in the future.

Rammus raised his head and set off into the jungle, determination forming in his heart. No matter how long it took, he would find others that had been transformed, or the means with which to do it himself. It would be a hard journey, but as he reflected on the quest that had brought him to the Plague Jungles, he knew that it would be no different.

In a swirl of colors, the jungles faded from Rammus's view and he was returned to the Institute of War. A purple-robed human stood before him, its expression a mixture of fascination and attempted severity. "Why do you want to join the League, Rammus?" it asked.

The Armordillo's only reply was to shrug. The human had just read his mind a second ago – could it not remember back that far? At any rate, Rammus knew that the human was in no position to refuse him. The League of Legends was in desperate need of champions, or so he'd been told by the blonde-haired youth who'd directed him here. They couldn't possibly reject him.

When no verbal response was forthcoming, the Summoner's scowl deepened. "They told me this thing was smart," he muttered to himself, only to gasp in surprise as Rammus raised his middle finger in response. The Armordillo didn't actually know what the gesture meant, but had picked it up along the way and understood that it was a surefire way to make humans angry. He didn't appreciate being called unintelligent.

It was a few more seconds before the Summoner finally recovered from his surprise. "How does it feel to expose your mind?" he said quickly, clearly hoping to end the Judgment as fast as possible.

Rammus gave a noncommittal nod. "Ok," he said, his voice low and gruff.

The Summoner stared at Rammus, clearly hoping for elaboration, but the Armordillo remained silent. "Welcome to the League," the human finally said when no response was forthcoming. It vanished into the darkness, leaving Rammus all alone once more. With a small grin, Rammus set off for the exit. The League would give him all the resources he needed to find the magic that had changed him. Everything was going to be ok.


End file.
